


Lo(s/v)er Boy

by FromTheOtherSideOfTheStage



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh Knows Everything, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak Are Best Friends, Bill Denbrough Loves Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough Loves Stanley Uris, Bisexual Beverly Marsh, Bisexual Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Everyone is Gay Except Ben Hanscom, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay Disaster Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Gay Stanley Uris, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Mike Hanlon Loves Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Multi, Mutual Pining, Platonic Relationships, Queer Mike Hanlon, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sassy Stanley Uris, Stanley Uris is So Done, Swearing, Teenage Losers Club (IT), The Losers Club (IT) Deserve Happiness, The Losers Club (IT) Love Each Other, The Losers Club (IT) are Not Heterosexual, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22153639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheOtherSideOfTheStage/pseuds/FromTheOtherSideOfTheStage
Summary: A modern-day teenage au. Stanley lives with Richie, Bill lives with Eddie, Mike lives with Ben, and Beverly lives in the same apartment building with them all. This will likely include swearing, underage drinking, a near-death experience, probably a panic attack at some point, and angst. Thanks for checking this story out!P.S. This story is in no way, shape, or form romanticizing underage drinking. The only reason it is included is because it helps the plot move along.P.S.S. I keep changing the tags I'm sorry I find this hilarious
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh/Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Beverly Marsh/Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Beverly Marsh/Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Comments: 47
Kudos: 133





	1. richie's dirty little secret

“You are a mess.”

  
Richie Tozier pulled an Airpod out of his ear and reluctantly flicked his eyes up at his roommate. “Hmm?” he trilled.

  
Stanley Uris had entered his bedroom, and was standing with one hand on a slim waist. A scowl fell hard against Stan’s normally soft features. Although his golf tee was tucked neatly into his khaki shorts as always, Stan’s curly caramel hair was more atrocious than usual. “You heard what I said,” Stan shot back. He then stormed into Richie’s bedroom, fists clenched by his hips.

  
“No, I didn’t!” The lie fell easily from Richie’s lips. Stan was expecting it, too--he had an unnerving talent of reading people like poetry.

  
Stan didn’t bother repeating himself, but his glare softened. “Can you just...clean up around here? Please?”

  
Richie tilted his head, letting a mountain of dark curls fall over one eye. “You don’t often use your manners. What’s up?”

  
Although Stan’s face was as staid as ever, Richie could tell something was off. Richie understood it from the moment his roommate returned home, from the very second he had slunk through the door. Being around Stan so often was making it very easy to decipher the emotions Stan loved to pretend he was good at hiding. When Stan was angry, he cried. That’s something Richie had learned the hard way, after he overheard Henry Bowers and his gang throwing rocks at a flock of birds. One of the stones had hit a pigeon in the head, knocking it unconscious and probably killing it, too. Stan had cried for a week, but he hadn’t been sad. He was outraged. On the flip side, when Stan was sad, he lashed out as if he were angry. That was what was happening in this episode. Stan even seemed to notice it himself, and vaguely tried to correct his behavior with half-assed apologies every other minute he wasn’t lost in his own thoughts. That, and the fact that Stan rarely or never started fights over small things. He mostly got annoyed or, at most, frustrated. But Richie and Stan never actually fought. That was something that just never happened.

  
Stan’s mouth flattened into a line so thin it put paper to shame. “None of your fucking business, Trashmouth.”

  
Richie put his hands up in surrender, subsequently knocking the comic book he was reading to the floor. “Aight, Salt and Temper,” he drawled, laying a Southern accent on in a poor attempt at making Stan smile. When he didn’t, Richie’s eyebrows knitted together. He started to move various comic books, water bottles, clothes and god-knows-what-else from his bed, and patted the now-clear space next to him. “C’mon. Sit with the Trashmouth for awhile. We can watch a horror movie, do a puzzle, paint each other’s nails, whatever. I’ll even make popcorn. You in?”

  
For a moment, Stan looked hopeful. Then it vanished as he groaned, “Can’t. Losers game night tonight, remember?”

  
Richie’s face fell. “Ah, well. Maybe next time, Stanley my boy? Friday, 7pm, movie date?” He puckered his lips and faked a kiss towards his roommate.

  
Stan’s scowl returned as he sharply stated, “Don’t push it. I’m not your fucking boyfriend, all right?”

  
Shock fled through Richie’s brain. How could Stan know? How did he find out about Henry Bowers, the gay slurs, and...his sexuality?! If he knew about that, could he know about his crush?

  
Stan shook his head, once again knocking the grimace off his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. That was fucked up of me. I take it back.”

  
Richie managed a weak “thanks.” Whatever hurt Stan had hurt him bad for him to be lashing out like this.

  
“Could we maybe...ditch game night?” Stan offered, meeting Richie’s eyes. “Watch a horror movie? Solve puzzles? Eat popcorn?”

  
Richie considered, but eventually said, “I’m sorry, I really don’t think we should skip out on them. You should come,” he finished lamely.

  
Stan sighed. “I’m gonna flake,” he said tiredly, looking way older than his eighteen. “Have fun at game night. Tell the Losers I have explosive diarrhea, or something. I’ll be in my room.”

  
He gently closed the door behind him.

  
“Boy, that was weird,” Richie declared into the silence.

  
He only waited two seconds before locating his phone, fumbling with his password, and finding Beverly’s contact, which was in his phone as “soulless ginger (lifeline)”  
Richie’s nimble fingers danced across the keyboard, typing out a sentence he then quickly sent: “stan is upset (don’t tell him i told u) do u know what happened??”

  
Beverly texted him back: “what?? oh no!! poor guy! i’ll ask @ game night”

  
“he’s not going…”

  
“oh! shit! something went down, then, huh?”

  
“mmhmm.”

  
“this isn’t good.”

  
“you’re telling me. i’m the fucker that has to live with him.”

  
“we’ll figure something out, i promise.”

  
He then texted Ben, who was in his phone as “bench handsome :P”

  
“stan’s upset. dunno what happened. help??”

  
“Poor guy. Did you try talking to him?”

  
“no, we communicate telepathically now. u still TALKIN? lmfaoooo.”

  
“Surprised you can communicate telepathically when you don’t have a BRAIN, Rich. But I acknowledge the dumb question.”

  
“touche. i’m rubbing off on you.”

  
“Gosh hecking darn it.”

  
“language, handsome!”

  
Once again, Richie closed out of the iMessage app. But then he remembered another person he could get advice from.  
He watched his finger press down on the contact, “eds spaghetti, the love of my life♡♥💕”

  
“stan’s upset & ditching game night, tf should i do??”

  
The message from Eddie Kaspbrak came shortly after.

  
“Nothing, yet. Let him wallow in self-pity for the night, THEN give him attention and love in the morning. Don’t pressure him into opening up but encourage him to. Be his outlet.”

  
Richie was dumbfounded at how clever Eddie really is. He wanted to tell him so, too, but then another text sent through.

  
“Bill is unhealthily, uncharacteristically, and ridiculously happy. Wtf am *I* supposed to do?”

  
The response Richie sent was faster than his brain.

  
“idk, suck his dick.”

  
He didn’t know where it came from. He often made dirty jokes, sure, but never really forcing anything onto any of the Losers like that. He had always been jealous of the relationship between Eddie and Bill though, for some inexplicable reason. They were best friends, better-than-brothers, and never separated.

  
“Ok brb,” came the reply.

  
Uhh. _What?!_

  
“Lmao no but in all seriousness, just asked him why he has that shit-eating grin and aPPARENTLy, Mike asked him on a date :P”

  
“OUR mike?” Richie wrote back, incredulous.

  
“No, Mike Wheeler. YES our Mike!!”

  
“good for them. one question though--mike’s gay??”

  
“‘Queer’, I think he’s calling it. Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

  
“ofc not.”

  
“Wonder who else in our friend group is gay lmao. Bill’s bi, Mike’s queer, Bev’s bi, who’s next haha XD”

  
Richie frantically turned his phone off. Was he hinting at...could he possibly know...No. There was no way.

  
He flipped his phone over and saw there was another text, this one from “b-b-bill-d a bear workshop”:

  
“Hey Rich! Ready for game night? Anyway, guess who just got a boyfriend! :D”

  
Richie decided to humor him. “whoooo? :D”

  
“Me n Mikey are dating now! Bet he’s jealous though, my boyfriend’s a lot cuter than his :P”

  
“aww! congrats, b-man!”

  
Richie bit his lip while pressing send. The familiar pang of loneliness hit him shortly after. Not because he liked Bill or Mike in that way, but because there was no way he would ever be satisfied with anyone but the person he could never have.

  
Nonetheless, he was excited to see him later that night.


	2. eddie's melodrama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is this one is better than the last one. Game night! And pining!

There was something so mesmerizing about the way he shuffled the deck. 

Eddie was transfixed on Richie’s fingers, watching the cards being sifted with the methodical, well-timed lapses of long, white fingers. The cards seemed to dance from one hand to another in a strategy so close to magic that Eddie was convinced that Richie was some sort of witch. It was only when Richie caught Eddie looking that he stopped. 

“Welcome,” Richie proclaimed in his ‘showman’ voice, “to the monthly Losers Club Game Night!”

Beverly cheered. “Hell yeah! Time to paaaarty! Who brought the booze?”

Stan, who had allegedly not been planning on showing up, hissed. “I swear to god if you all get drunk a _ gain _ \--”

“--I did!” said Mike cheerfully, lifting up a plastic bag. The gentle clanks of a few cheap wine bottles emitted from it as he raised it over his head. 

Bill pumped his fist in the air from where he was laying on the couch. “F-Fuck yeah. Thank you Mikey, you’re amazing.”

“It’s your turn to pay next, Bill, just because you claim to have a headache, it won’t get you out of next month’s duties,” said Mike, but not unkindly. He ruffled Bill’s hair affectionately with his free hand, and Bill leaned into the touch, smiling. 

“You have a headache, Bill?” Ben inquired, sitting forward so quickly that Beverly’s legs were knocked off his lap. “Sorry,” he said quickly, silencing her squacks of protest immediately. 

“It’s gone away,” Bill said mischievously, a smirk perched on his lips, igniting a groan out of Mike. 

“You better stay off the wine if your head hurts, Billy my boy,” laughed Richie. “Everyone make sure he doesn’t have a  _ drop  _ of alcohol.”

“No no no, that’s unnecessary,” Bill protested, sitting straight up. “I’m okay, I s-swear.”

Eddie rested his head on the back of the couch and let the Loser’s playful bicker wash over him like the cheap air-conditioner in the corner of the apartment that Richie and Stan shared. There was a lot on his mind, and what they were talking about now, Mike’s strange obsession with antiques, was not one of them. 

Wearily, he glanced around the apartment. They were in the ‘living room’, if one could call it that. There was one beat-up couch that Richie had found at a secondhand store in front of an orbit of beanbag chairs possessing various shades of green and blue. The coffee table was filled with random speckles of holes from pencil-stabbings, cat scratches, and god-knows-what else. There was even a funky stain from when Stan threw an entire glass of coffee on Richie. That was one of Eddie’s favorite game nights. Somehow, Richie had ended up with a hotel on Boardwalk and...well, it was really fun. 

Bill was laying on the couch with his legs crossed and hands folded behind his head. A smug smile ghosted his lips as Mike sat next to him on the armrest and neatly tangled his fingers in his auburn hair. They smiled at each other knowingly, looking like they were part of some hilariously funny inside joke that they could never tell. 

On a beanbag the color of a fake soccer field was Ben, quietly grinning to himself. The cause might be rooted in the fact that Beverly, on a neon-green beanbag to his left, had her legs, striped tights and all, resting lazily on his lap. He looked both nervous and very, very happy. 

Looking at them, Eddie felt a sort of uneasiness settle over him. Now that Mike and Bill were dating, and Beverly and Ben were, what would happen to the group? It all happened so suddenly, within the first week of January. Even worse, what could happen if they broke up? It could shatter the entire friend group. 

But Eddie revisited his first question. What would become of everyone? Would the two distance themselves from everyone and their group of seven putters down to five, or three, or--

To reassure himself, Eddie sat up sharply to look at Richie and Stan. There was no way  _ they  _ could be a couple...could they?

Right now, the two were bickering over something silly--he couldn’t quite make it out--but the uneasy feeling in Eddie’s stomach wasn’t put to rest. 

If they always fight, there’s no way they could be romantically attracted to each other, right? Despite the fact that he and Richie--

No. Eddie stopped himself right there. He wasn’t going to acknowledge that shit yet. No  _ way _ . 

Anyway, despite Richie and Stan moving in together as soon as high school was over, it could mean nothing! Eddie nodded, satisfied by his rational thinking. After all, he and Bill lived together just across the hall, and there was nothing romantic there, right! Bill was like his brother!

But then again, Eddie had a crush on Bill before. Kind of. He wouldn’t dare admit this to anyone, of course, but around the ages of eight and nine, he was madly obsessed with him. Bill was, to put it mildly, his first crush. Not his last, and definitely not his current, but that had happened a decade ago. 

Being the seventh wheel was not on Eddie’s to-do list. 

Suddenly, Eddie imagined Richie and Stan engaged in a kiss, and was immediately upset with himself. It disgusted him, and mad jealousy coursed through his veins. He practically saw red at that new development. 

“It’s so improbable,” he murmured to himself as Mike poured everyone a generous amount of wine. He was trying to be rational and calm himself down, but his efforts were seemingly unsuccessful. “Impossible!”

But it didn’t matter what he tried to believe, Stan was still softly smiling about whatever Richie had just whispered in his ear. 

So when Richie declared the games to begin, Eddie’s death grip on his wine glass didn’t slacken, and he drank it all down in one gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh...yeah. thanks for putting up with this haha. i think it's better than the last one but i do still apologize for whatever the hell you just read. also foreshadowing hell yeah


	3. richie's regime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Richie both have secrets. Well...not anymore. (platonic stozier fluff)

Somehow, Richie had managed to convince Stan to go to game night. 

_ How _ , he wasn’t sure. All he had done was go down to the store, buy Stan’s favorite food (Nutella), and brought it to him in his room. Stan’s eyes were red and puffy, but he had smiled so big when Richie did it. That in itself was worth every penny that the hazelnut chocolate spread had cost. 

It was going to be a strange night, that’s for sure. 

With no intention of actually playing a card game, Richie pulled out a deck from somewhere within the couch and started shuffling them. He had long since mastered the art of cards, mostly because he was slightly ADHD and never knew what to do with his hands. He was known to bring out a deck every now and then and just shuffle them. It was strange, or at least, some people thought it was, but it was strangely calming. 

Richie knew he was being uncharacteristically quiet. He didn’t know why none of the other Losers didn’t know, however, until he looked up and saw them all wrapped up in each other, with the exception of Stan and Eddie. 

In fact, when he looked up, he saw Eddie’s eyes on him, which was even more unusual. The blush that rose to Eddie’s cheeks as Richie caught him and the embarrassed glance to somewhere else was just enough to make Richie fall even more in love with him. 

It was crazy, how slowly it took Richie to realize that the feeling he was experiencing was love. It was as if falling in love with him was the easy part; it was admitting to himself that it happened that was hard. He had these very efficient defenses for so long and Eddie didn't even notice them--he had his own door, and had walked into Richie’s heart with ease, grace, and nobility without apology, invitation or hesitation. 

The game of loving Eddie was a gamble. It was risky, it was dangerous, it was bold. It was everything real in a world of make-believe. It was also everything forbidden to Richie, however, as they could never be truly happy together, as he was often reminded by every time he was referred to as “Eddie’s best friend”. 

He’s straight. 

Get. Over. Him. 

After some seemingly normal banter, Richie started paying close attention to Stan. It was, after all, his fault that he was here. 

Stan seemed to be deep in thought. He was distant and glaring at something, or someone. When Richie followed his gaze, suddenly, everything started to make sense. 

Stan was enamored with either Bill or Mike. 

That’s why he was so upset today, and that’s why he didn’t want to come to game night! Everything made sense now, Richie was sure of it. But how could he make Stan happy without making the other two upset? He hated seeing Stan like this, stronger than almost anything he’s ever felt before. Absolutely hated it. 

It made sense, Richie supposed, but there was only one way to find out. 

He whistled and waved a hand in front of Stan’s face. “Yoo-hoo! Stanley!”

Stan gave Richie a look equivalent to the dead eyes of a storefront mannequin. “The hell do you want, Tozier?”

Richie’s hands retreated into his lap. “Just wondering how you’re enjoying the party, that’s all.”

Stan blew a stray curl out of his eyes. “It’s terrible. Thanks.”

Richie’s smile finally dropped. “Okay, Uris. Spill.”

“What?”

“You heard me! Spill!”

“What do you want me to spill, Tozier?” he said tiredly. “There’s nothing to say. 

“Bull,” Richie declared. “That’s a shit ton of bull and you  _ know  _ it.”

“Maybe,” Stan said, his voice rising in volume, “I don’t trust you enough to tell you. Maybe it’s none of your business.”

“I freaking live with you! I deserve to know!” shouted Richie. Now they were really arguing, but no one seemed to be paying attention. Why didn’t anyone care? Why didn’t anyone see that they were breaking apart?

“Piss off,” Stan snapped. “Just leave me alone, alright? I  _ will  _ go back to my room, like I was intending to.”

“Stanley Lester Uris.” Richie stared at him through tinted glasses. “Talk. To. Me.”

“I…”

Did it work? Was Stan really opening up? Did he do it?

But Stan didn’t have to say anything. It was the half-glance at Bill and Mike, a tangle of limbs on the couch, that gave it away. 

“...Ah.”

Stan flinched and turned back to Richie. “It’s not what you think—”

“Stan, it’s okay.” Richie spared a half-glance at Bill and Mike as well. “It’s okay.”

Stan stares determinedly at the coffee table. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” Richie insisted. “Which one?”

Stan let out a bland half-chuckle in response. “Not which. Both.”

“Holy shit, Stan.”

“I know.”

“Like...holy  _ shit. _ ” Richie took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. 

“I  _ know. _ ”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

Richie nodded, gazing off into the distance. “No, it’s not,” he said thoughtfully. 

Stan shook his head. “ _ I’m  _ sorry. I’ve been a jackass all day. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course. Just one question.”

Panic flashed across Stan’s face, but he quickly concealed it. “Shoot.”

“Are you gay or bi or—”

“Bi.”

Richie grinned. “So you’re not single—”

“—don’t—”

Richie leaned over and whispered in Stan’s ear, “—you’re all  _ bi  _ yourself.”

“Beep beep!” Stan groaned, but he was smiling. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right?”

“A cute idiot, though,” Richie protested, sticking his tongue out. 

“That being said,” Stan said, ignoring him, “when are you gonna ask Eddie out?”

“ _ What?! _ ” Richie shrieked, feeling all the blood drain from his face. “I am not—I have never—I  _ will  _ never—”

“You can’t lie to me, Trashmouth,” bragged a smug Stan. “I’ve known since we were eight years old.”

Richie sighed. “Tell no one,” he said, letting the words of a defeated man drip out of his lips. They tasted weird, but...maybe Stan knowing isn’t such a bad thing after all. Maybe, just maybe, they could help each other. 

Stan scratched the back of his head. “Gay?”

“Yup.” Richie popped the ‘p’ at the end of the word. He thought for just a moment. “How did you know?”

“Honey, please,” Stan laughed, “you have your emotions written on your face like a really ugly makeup.”

“Already flamboyant, are we?”

“Of course not.”

Richie grinned, and for what seemed like the first time in weeks, Stan smiled back. It was nice, Richie realized. To have a best friend. He didn’t realize how much he missed him until he got him back. 

Unbeknownst to either of them, there was one Loser on the couch who did not like what he was seeing, and proceeding to drink away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, that was fun to write! gotta say, i'm a sucker for platonic stozier, that is all :)


	4. eddie's strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s alright if you’re gay, bro,” Ben said seriously, nodding. 
> 
> A pause. 
> 
> “Really?”
> 
> Eddie had never heard Richie sound so small. 
> 
> “Of course,” Eddie said earnestly, gazing directly into Richie’s eyes. “Of course.”
> 
> Richie stared at him for another few seconds, then looked away. Eddie’s entire body felt prickly and warm. “Well, in that case…”
> 
> \--Stanley get your hand off his thigh or--
> 
> “...yeah. I’m gay.”

Eddie watched Richie and Stan’s quiet conversation play out, resenting how much Stan could make Richie smile. He wished he could make Richie smile like that. Worse, he had come to realize, was that he could remember a time when he did have that ability, but it seemed to fade with time. 

He both loved and despised Richie’s smiles with Stan. 

“This isn’t much of a game night,” he finally snapped after watching the two gaze into each other’s eyes for longer than seemed platonically acceptable. 

“True,” Bill agreed. He mostly detangled himself from Mike, but keeping their hands intertwined. “What d-do you have in mind?”

“Monopoly?” Eddie said hopefully, and saw Richie nod enthusiastically at the idea. Eddie felt a familiar warm rush overcome his senses. He hadn’t realized how much he missed how golden he felt with Richie. 

But the joy was crushed when Bill sheepishly admitted, “I felt the board at my parents’.” When people started to jokingly tease him, he mumbled, “G-Georgie likes it, all right? C’mon.”

Their protests were silenced. It was an unspoken rule that Georgie was above all, henceforth getting away with anything. 

“Uno?” offered Ben. 

“Don’t have the cards.”

“I saw you with cards earlier, Richie.” Eddie’s breath caught in his throat when Richie’s attention turned to him. 

“Oh, you wanna play without wilds and skips and reverses?” Richie’s eyebrows raised as he gazed through half-lidded eyes at a positively red Eddie. 

“We could still play!” Eddie weakly argued, breaking eye contact by looking down at his Converse. 

“Settlers of Catan, then?” Mike said quickly, interrupting the conversation. 

“Missing half the board.”

“Life?”

Ben winced. “We have that, but I saw a spider in--”

Stan instinctively flinched and hugged himself. “Absolutely not, then.”

“Are you telling me,” Beverly said slowly, “that it’s  _ game night _ and  _ no one brought games _ \--”

“Guys, c’mon,” Mike said, sitting forward. “We don’t need cards or boards to play games.”

“Yeah!” Ben said, catching onto Mike’s drift. “How about...Never Have I Ever?”

“Excellent plan, Benny my boy,” announced Richie, already putting up five fingers. “I’ll go first: Never have I ever...celebrated Hannuka.”

Eddie giggled as Stan screeched “Unfair! Richie you little shit--”

“Never have I ever,” declared Mike, “had a girlfriend.”

Eddie looked down at his five fingers miserably. If only he could tell them. 

To no one’s surprise, Bill and Ben put down a finger each, as both have dated Beverly, and Stan put another finger down, as he had dated a girl named Patty last year. However, everyone was appalled to witness Beverly put down a finger as well. 

“Who?” Ben asked, more in curiosity than jealousy. 

“Max Mayfield,” Beverly giggled dreamily, wiggling her remaining four fingers. 

“Your  _ roommate _ ?” Bill asked. 

“Maybe…? She’s my best friend. We just weren’t meant to date.”

“I think I’m more jealous about her best friend status than Ben is of her ex status,” Richie said to laughter. “But if we’re counting her, I gotta put down a finger as well. That’s before I realized I was--” He stopped himself. 

Eddie perked up as Richie’s face went bright red. Could he be...Was he implying…

“Gay?” Mike said bluntly, voicing everyone’s thoughts. 

“No, before I realized...I was in love with someone else.”

Eddie didn’t miss Richie’s panicked look toward Stan. He felt fire ignite and spread through his whole body, and he absentmindedly rubbed his arms. 

“It’s alright if you’re gay, bro,” Ben said seriously, nodding. 

A pause. 

“Really?”

Eddie had never heard Richie sound so small. 

“Of course,” Eddie said earnestly, gazing directly into Richie’s eyes. “Of course.”

Richie stared at him for another few seconds, then looked away. Eddie’s entire body felt prickly and warm. “Well, in that case…”

\-- _ Stanley get your hand off his thigh or _ \--

“...yeah. I’m gay.”

Fireworks exploded in Eddie’s chest. His heart sung  _ finally, finally, finally.  _ All these years of pining and hoping and praying that Richie liked guys, only to find out during a game of Never Have I Ever in the Tozier-Uris apartment. The universe has aligned itself at last. 

However, one big question remained--could Eddie stand a chance with Richie Tozier?

“I’m honestly surprised that y’all are surprised,” Beverly said, ending the shocked silence. 

“You knew?!” Bill exclaimed. 

“Since seventh grade!” Beverly rolled her eyes playfully, stretching an arm out to throw around Richie. 

_ And she never told? That would’ve been useful to know! _

“He came out to me thirty minutes ago, but I’ve still known for years.” Stan shrugged nonchalantly, placing a hand lightly on Richie’s shoulder. 

Eddie sucked in a breath at this, but was still beaming. 

“We’re proud of you nonetheless,” said Mike. Bill was nodding in the comfort of Mike’s strong arms, and the two strangely looked like Richie’s two very accepting dads. 

“And that person you’re in love with?” Stan coaxed gently, shifting a little closer, much to Eddie’s dismay. 

“Yeah?” Eddie said, a little too quickly. When the other six Losers turned to stare at him, he turned a bright pink. 

“Well,” Richie smirked, “it’s Eddie--”

\-- _ finally, finally, finally _ \--

“--’s mom!”

“Asshole!” Eddie spat, and he didn’t have to fake his disappointment. The other Losers laughed, sure, but something had shifted between Richie and him, he could feel it. They both felt it. They were electric, in that moment, and for a mere instant, Eddie thought that maybe Richie could see right into him. 

But then the moment ended when Mike started talking again. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he laughed. “Never have I ever...kissed anyone.”

“Really?!” Bill said, threading their fingers together. 

“Yeah!” Mike smiled, tracing slow circles on the back of Bill’s hand. 

Suddenly, Bill dived across the couch, cupped Mike’s cheek against the palm of his free hand, and kissed him softly on the lips. “Oops! N-Now you have to put down a finger, Mikey!”

Mike was completely speechless as the rest of the Losers started yipping and wolf-whistling. 

Everyone put down a finger but Eddie. 

“Eddie wait, you haven’t had your first kiss?” Richie said. 

“No?” Eddie said carefully.  _ Kiss me. Make it better, just like Bill and Mike.  _

“He’s lying so he can win the game,” Stan protested, but there was no bite in his words. 

“Seriously, you haven’t?” said Richie. 

Eddie shook his head.  _ Kiss me. Do it. Please.  _

Richie’s dark brown eyes looked him up and down, trying to decide if he was telling the truth, Eddie supposed. Still, it sent chills down his neck to his spine. “He’s telling the truth,” Richie announces, and Eddie didn’t miss the flabbergasted tone in his voice. 

Also, since when did Richie become a human lie detector??

“Whack,” said Mike, still seemingly floating on air after the kiss. He thoughtfully pressed his lips to the top of Bill’s head, mussing up the latter’s hair but still inducing a smile out of him. 

“I’m going to change it up a little,” said Stan, a little too loudly. “Now we should name things that we  _ have  _ done, and if others haven’t, they put down a finger.” Without waiting for the others’ permission, he steamed on. “ _ Ever  _ have I ever had a crush on one of the Losers.”

Eddie knew that Beverly, Ben, Mike, and Bill weren’t changing their finger count, so he didn’t focus on them. Instead, he stared dead into Richie’s eyes and watched him closely. When he didn’t drop a finger, Eddie mirrored this behavior, then looked away. 

“Oh, shit!” laughed Beverly, ignoring the tension. “Is that everybody? Stan? Are you gonna tell us which one, or are we gonna have to guess?”

“Neither,” Stan notified her, and although there was humor in his voice, his face was staid and solemn. 

A few more rounds went by, with alternating “nevers” and “evers.” Finally, it was down to Richie and Eddie, each with one finger left and everything to lose. 

The room was quiet as Richie voiced his challenge. “Never have I ever,” he said, his voice a deadly quiet purr, “gotten turned down for something I really wanted.”

“Not yet anyway,” Eddie retaliated, keeping his cool. He wasn’t blind to how loaded the question was--nor how Richie was looking at him. He had moved from the couch to the beanbag chair next to Richie, this one the color of mint. “Never have I ever,” he began, “found a friend’s mom hotter than he or she was.”

Beverly screamed when Richie didn’t put down a finger. “Oh, Sonia is hot,” Richie whispered in a voice so low that only he could hear it, “but not nearly as hot as you, Eds.”

Eddie couldn’t tell whether or not Richie was joking, but he  _ knew  _ he was blushing with the heat of a thousand suns. He was, however, three drinks in, so he let it slide while mentally preparing himself for Richie’s next question. 

“Never have I ever had a crush on one of the Losers while they were dating another Loser.”

Eddie smirked. “Neither have I, Trashmouth. But I see your game.” He thought for a moment, letting the curiosity drive Richie insane. “Never have I ever kissed Stanley Uris.”

“What?!” Stan said from one beanbag over. 

“Honest question,” Eddie said. He was dead-serious and wanted to know badly whether there was something going on or not. 

“Did you just pick a random Loser--”

“Answer. The. Question.”

Richie’s smile returned. “I have not!” he declared. 

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to be upset by not winning. He was just glad that at the moment, Richie was not dating Stan. And that was good enough for him. 

Richie thought for a moment or two, then smirked. “Ever have I ever kissed Beverly Marsh on the lips.”

“What?! No! Of course not! Wait--you have?!” Eddie put down his final finger, not in defeat, but in confusion. He spun around to Beverly, accusatory. “Would either one of you care to explain?”

Beverly twirled a strand of Ben’s hair around a thin finger with a black nail, laughing. “It’s not what you think. I was dating Maxine at the time, and I needed a beard, cause my dad would disown my ass if he found out. So Richie and I pretend to be dating around him, and one time we kissed. That’s all.”

“Hell yeah! I won!” Richie shouted, high-fiving Stan. Well, it was less of a high five on Stan’s part, more of an instinctive “don’t-touch-me-get-away-from-my-face” and their hands happened to meet. 

Eddie drank more cheap Hannaford wine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! this was fun to write! i love jealous eddie tbh, more than i should. enjoy the hanbrough and bev x max as well~


	5. richie's dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a game of truth or dare hides truths in its dares and dares in its truths

“Truth or dare?” Bill said, swallowing back some wine. 

Beverly thought for a moment. “Dare!” she challenged. “Mama didn’t raise a pussy.”

“Your mom died when you were three, though,” lamented Stan. 

Everyone was silent for a second, but Beverly started to laugh. Slowly, the others joined in, appalled at Stan’s gall to say such a thing. On other, more sober days, Beverly would likely get angry or start crying. However, most of them were drunk and found this _very_ hilarious. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Bill said, waving a hand aimlessly. “I dare you to let Richie do your hair.”

“What?!” she squawked. “He’s going to kill my scalp!”

“C’mere, pretty girl!” Richie cackled, lunging for her. 

She groaned and squealed as Richie attempted to braid her previously-perfect curls of red hair. As he conjured up some hair ties from somewhere within the couch, Ben was staring astoundedly at her. “You still look beautiful,” he said in wonder. 

Beverly turned as red as her hair. “Why, thank you, Ben,” she mumbled, reaching a hand up to touch her miscellaneous braids. “How kind.”

“Alright, lovebirds, you’re making me sick,” Richie said, rolling his eyes. “And for your information, Ben, she is _my_ work of art. So every compliment you give her automatically gets transferred to me. Truth or dare, Benny my Boy?”

Ben winced. “Dare…?”

“Was that a question or a statement?”

“Dare, then.”

“Okay.” Richie smiled dopily. “Insult me.”

Ben blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Richie laughed, but he was dead serious. “You have nothing but positivity to put forward. Let’s hear you talk negative.”

“Ben doesn’t have a mean bone in his body,” Stan protested. He had since cooled down from his fit, but he was pointedly refusing to look at the cuddle puddle of Mike and Bill on the couch. 

“We’ll see, then,” Richie said, a challenge in his eyes. “Go on. Insult me.”

Ben had been sitting silently throughout the exchange, evaluating Richie. “Okay.” He breathed in deeply. “Here goes!” He expelled the breath while saying, “Richie, you are nothing less than special. Although you are a pain in the ass, you’re incredibly funny, smarter than you believe, and a damn good friend, all right? Your cheeky half-smiles bring me _life_ and I owe you so much, man.”

Richie was uncharacteristically speechless. He lifted his glass to his lips and murmured, “Affection. Disgusting.”

“Look at th-that,” Bill giggled to Mike, “he’s _offended_! M-Might I say, he’s _insulted_! This is a-awesome!”

“That is not what I expected, Ben,” Richie said, scowling. “But,” he paused to think, “I appreciate it. You’re...a wordsmith.”

“That’s all Bill,” Ben said, shrugging off the compliment. 

Mike rested his chin on Bill’s head. “If I’m not careful, Ben’s gonna steal my boyfriend, I think,” he joked. 

“Never,” Bill said, poking a tongue out between full lips. “No offense, though, Benjamin.”

“None taken.”

“No joke though, I would marry Ben,” said Richie, clearly joking, extracting a “Mine!” out of Beverly. The Losers laughed, but Mike could tell that something was up with Eddie. 

“Hey, Eddie!”

Richie watched as Eddie looked away from Ben and turned to the source of the voice--Mike. “What?” he said quickly, trying to fake a smile. _What had happened?_ Ah, well. Probably nothing, he supposed. 

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth. Mama raised a pussy.”

“Oohhhh, the _potential_!” exclaimed Mike dramatically. “How about you share your first crush with the class?”

Eddie gulped, turning red. He carefully directed his gaze to his once-white socks and said, “Uh, well, it was one of you.” He laced his fingers together and started twisting them anxiously.

Richie drummed his fingers on his legs, nervous and excited. 

“Beverly?” questioned Bill, oblivious to the tension. 

“Well, it was one of you,” admitted Eddie. 

Wait, wait, wait. If it was one of the Losers, and it _wasn’t_ Beverly, did this mean… 

“First of all, I think it’s important f-for you guys to know that I’m gay,” Eddie said, his voice shaky. 

Silence. 

Then, warm smiles. Words of encouragement. Pats on the back. Hugs. Beverly kissed him on the cheek and said, “Thank you for having the courage to tell us this. I know it must have been hard. I just want to let you know that you are loved and so, so, so valid.”

Eddie took a hiccupy breath and smiled. “Thanks, guys. One of the things that was holding me back was my mom. As you know, she’s homophobic, and I didn’t want to risk it getting back to her. I trust you all wholeheartedly, but accidents do happen.”

“Of course,” Richie said, nodding seriously. He was so so so happy. All these years had led up into the development which he always dreamed was true but was too scared to ask, and he could hardly contain himself. All the play-fights, nicknames, even the sneaking into each other’s bedrooms at night, everything had happened when both of them had secretly been gay. That was too much to process. 

Heart in his throat, Richie spoke up. “And your first crush?”

Eddie turned positively red. “Uhh, I just want to make it clear that I do _not_ , in any way, shape, or form, have a crush on them now, but…”

_I wanted it to be me, but now I’m not so sure._

“...Bill was my first crush.”

“Holy crap!” said Bill, laughing awkwardly. “When was this?”

“When I was in, like, third grade. Don’t worry, Mike,” he added hurriedly. 

Mike kissed Bill’s temple and pulled him closer into his chest. He smiled knowingly. “It’s not Bill’s fault that he’s irresistible. He was my first crush too.”

“Mine too,” said Beverly. 

“And mine,” admitted Richie forlornly. 

“Mine as well.”

Everyone turned to the source of the voice in shock. 

Bill, who was blushing furiously, sputtered, “Stan?”

Stan turned redder than Beverly’s hair. “Yeah?”

By now, the Losers were used to the process of comforting a person who has just come out, and all crowded to hug Stan, except for Bill and Mike, who remained on the couch. Bill was talking in a low voice to Mike, and he was saying something back with a forced smile. Eventually, the two reached an agreement, and Bill snuggled himself into Mike’s chest once more. 

“Are you gay, Stan?” said Ben, after he retreated from the group hug. 

“Bi,” Stan corrected. “I think it’s mostly towards girls, still, but I definitely do like guys as well.” He swallowed. “I don’t want to come out to anyone else, so do y’all mind keeping this on the down-low?”

“‘Course,” said Bill thoughtfully. Mike pulled his little spoon closer in his arms protectively. 

“You should give Mike a dare,” Eddie said loudly, stifling the tension. 

Stan smiled softly and shook his head. “Nah, I need...a minute. Someone else go.”

“Alright,” said Ben, sitting up in his beanbag chair. “Bill’s an artist, right? How ‘bout we reverse the roles and have Mike draw Bill?”

“My hands are so clumsy!” Mike exclaimed. “I’d never be able to bring this work of art to justice!”

Richie snorted a laugh. “Makes it even more fun, then.”

“Does it mean I have to g-get up?” whined Bill. “Ugh, fiiine.”

Bill got up to allow Mike to sit in front of the couch on a beanbag, while Ben provided a piece of paper and a fountain pen. 

Bill laid down in the Mike-shaped hole on the couch, propping his head up on his arm while his other hand was on his hip. “D-Draw me like one of your French girls,” he fake-moaned in a poor imitation of the iconic scene from Titanic. 

The Losers watched contentedly as Mike completely butchered drawing his boyfriend. It was no better than a stick figure, and one of Bill’s eyes was astronomically larger than the other, but when it was done, Bill hugged it to his chest, kissed Mike’s cheek and announced that he was going to frame it. 

“That was fun,” admitted Mike, climbing back onto the couch, “but I think I’ll leave the artsy stuff to you, _mon amour_.”

“Gross,” Beverly said. “Truth or dare?”

“D-Dare.” Bill stretched his arms over his head and casually pulled Mike’s head onto his shoulder. 

“Easy. I dare you to call Georgie and put him on speaker.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you wanna t-talk to him, Bev.”

“Well, duh.”

Bill sighed and pulled out his phone. “Fiiine.” He scrolled through his contacts until he found “Georgie Denbrough (best bro🎈)”. He called him and put his phone on speaker mode, to Beverly’s request. 

Georgie picked up the phone first ring. “Hey, Billy,” he said, his voice distorted slightly. “Why are you calling?”

“Uhh, just to say I-I love you?”

Georgie’s boyish laugh filled the room, and Beverly practically swooned into Ben’s arms. “Doubtful, big bro. What’s up?”

Before Bill could say anything, Mike started talking. “Hey, G!”

“Mikey? Is that you?”

“Yeah!” Mike bit back a grin. “Guess what?”

“What?” A pause. “Did you finally ask my brother out?”

Mike chuckled. “Yes, sir!”

Georgie started whooping. “Yes! You’re the man, Mikey!”

“I know, right?”

Richie smiled. Ever since he knew Georgie, he had always been proud of how accepting and loving he was. So free of toxic masculinity. It was a beautiful thing to see. 

After Mike talked to Georgie for a while, it was Beverly’s turn, then Eddie’s, then Ben’s, then Richie’s. Stan was offered a turn as well, but he politely refused. 

“Wow,” Ben said after hanging up. “That was the best dare ever.”

“And the g-game’s not done yet,” Bill announced. “Stanley.”

“Yeah?” Stan said, avoiding his gaze. 

“Truth or dare?”

The curly-haired boy winced. “Must I?”

“You must,” pressured Eddie. 

“All right, then. Fuck it. Dare.”

“Dare?” Bill smirked coyly. “I dare you to get d-drunk.”

Stan froze, eyebrows so far up his forehead that they were receding into his hair. “I don’t drink, Bill.”

“Well, _I_ d-do! And far too much t-tonight, if I’m being honest.” To emphasize, he took a long gulp from his glass. “B-But you’ve never had alcohol, not even once. I wanna see the d-drunk Stanley Uris.”

Stan looked panicked for a second, eyes leaping to meet Richie’s fearfully. When the latter nodded, Stan put on his brave face and copied. “I accept your terms, Denbrough. Bring me your finest wine.”

“One cheap Hannafords watered-down grape alcohol, coming up!” said Mike enthusiastically. 

The entire room held its breath as Stan took a tentative sip. He flinched, then hesitated, then looked taken aback, then smiled. “Not bad for something illegal.”

“It’s only illegal if you get caught,” joked Richie. “And the full dare was getting drunk, so drink up, Stan the man.”

Stan rolled his eyes and took another sip. “Truth or dare, Trashmouth?”

Richie grinned. “Dare. Duh.”

A knowing smirk played on the corners of Stan’s lips, and Richie started to regret his decision. 

“Kiss Eddie.”


	6. eddie's dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eddie you fUKCING IDIOT I'M MAD @ YOU  
> YOU FUCKED EVRYTHING UP EDDIE  
> FUCKING C'MON, MAN  
> spoiler: he's a frucking chicken  
> also i wrote eddie suuuper oblivious bc i'm channelling Lesbian Energy today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short one because i wanted to switch back to richie but yeah :)  
> god ok so bev is richie's bff, she knows about his crush  
> and mike is to eddie because i love their dynamic ok  
> bill and ben are just oblivious but that's ok bc i love them  
> stan is So Annoyed 50000% of the time

Eddie’s mind went entirely blank. 

“What?!” he and Richie said in perfect harmony. They glanced at each other, and Eddie didn’t miss the way Richie’s light freckles were drowning in his blush.  _ What was that supposed to mean?  _ he couldn’t help but wonder.  _ Is there a chance, if only slim, that Richie-fucking-Tozier likes me back? _

But then they both turned away. Eddie’s cheeks were on fire. 

“Stan, no,” Richie said as a laugh. 

Every atom in Eddie’s body heated up at once. He wasn’t quick enough to object, and now everyone was going to suspect him. He had to act fast. “Yeah, no!” he pretended to agree, making a throw-up noise in the back of his throat. “Gross, Stanley.”

“That’s  _ cold _ ,” announced Beverly. 

Everyone was looking at Eddie in uncomfortable silence. He pointedly refused to look at Richie. His face was completely red. He wanted to disappear. 

“Damn,” Ben said, pouring another glass of wine. “What should we play next?”

_ Oh fuck I’ve ruined it all, haven’t I? _

Eddie tuned out the rest of the conversation, trying to ignore the tears building up behind his eyes like vomit.  _ You could’ve kissed Richie _ , he yelled spitefully at himself.  _ You had the perfect opportunity to kiss Richie and you didn’t and now he won’t like you anymore! You will never get that chance ever again, you stupid bitch! _

A voice in his ear reminded him,  _ He didn’t like you to begin with, quit dreaming.  _

“I’m not dreaming!” Eddie weakly protested, hardly realizing he had spoken. 

Beverly paused her conversation with Ben and looked over at him. “You okay?” she mouthed, making a heart with her hands. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, and fell back onto his beanbag chair. He slammed his head in the cushion a few times for emphasis.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid.  _

Eddie started vaguely wondering what kissing Richie would be like, but it turned into more of a daydream. How would Richie’s lips feel on his? Would they be soft and gentle, or chapped? Would he take it slow, or would the quick peck on the lips just be a dare to Richie? 

Would he hold his face in his hands? Would he let his hands wander down Eddie’s neck--Eddie felt chills imagining how that would feel--and drift toward his shoulder? Would he make some stupid joke afterward, or would they just smile, blushing, at each other to signify the end of the game and moment?

Would he take off his glasses? Would Eddie cling desperately onto the collar of that impractical-but-cute Hawaiian shirt Richie was wearing, or would he not be able to realize what was happening until it was over?

It was too bad, really, that Eddie would never find out. 

He started drinking again. 

A few minutes later, he felt his phone vibrate in his lap. Turning it over, he saw a text from “Mike & Ike :)”:

“Hey man, is everything ok?”

Biting his lower lip gently, Eddie wrote back, “Not really. You saw what happened.”

“Why did you say that if you wanted to kiss him?”

Eddie turned his phone off for a second, then turned it back on. “I don’t know what happened, Mike, if I’m being honest. It’s like I reverted back into my twelve-year-old self. Everyone was so loud without saying anything. I had to do something.”

“I get it, I do, but you really need to get over yourself sometimes, man. I’ve known you were gay and in love with Richie since freshman year of high school, and have constantly begged and begged for you to man up and do something about this ‘harmless crush’. I know it’s not easy, but please, for the love of God, do something.”

“It’s not easy! You’re right!” Eddie typed. “How did you do it?”

“With your help,” Mike admitted, and Eddie saw him contort his mouth into a puckered twist. “But I can’t help you with this. I don’t KNOW if Richie likes you. But you gave me the heads-up about Bill, so I was able to act accordingly.”

“G r e a t. Well, thanks for being here anyway Mikey, I do appreciate it.”

“Back at ya.”

Eddie watched as Mike turned off his phone and wrapped his arms around Bill once more, and couldn’t help how utterly lonely he felt. 

_ Who wants a boyfriend anyway,  _ some part of his brain said snidely.  _ Swapping spit with some geek who will take up all your attention, time, and focus is unideal. Who needs ‘em.  _

_...I do.  _

_ He’s just a stupid boy who’s wearing his t-shirt inside out. Get over him.  _

“Hey Eddie, you alright there?” said Ben, offering a small smile. 

“Yeah.” Eddie forced one back and finished his glass of wine. “Just a little tipsy, that’s all.”

“You’ve always been a lightweight, Eds,” teased Richie. 

Eddie turned to look at him and felt himself melt a little bit inside. “Yeah,” he said weakly, trying to ignore every fiber of his existence that was begging him to kiss the boy next to him. “I guess I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn...it b like that sometimes


	7. richie's misfortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SELF HARM MENTIONED. (blink and you miss it but it's in paragraph 11, sentence 2)  
> everyone's drunk, fluffy idiot drunks hanbrough, a dare was completed, richie ANGST like unrequited love and shit that i wrote when i was crying on the floor of the girls bathroom, eddie sings a song but it's actually a poem i found on google images ("song" by christina rossetti if you're wondering)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at me posting twice in one day  
> kinda like this chapter ngl  
> i think the next one will be even more crazy though, if the story goes where i've been planning.

Richie was just starting to feel the effects of Eddie’s insult wear off. 

Or that could be the alcohol kicking in. 

God, he was absolutely  _ devastated.  _ It was like Kid Eddie had randomly popped out again. Eighteen-year-old Eddie was much more tolerant of things like germs and cooties and--well--Richie, but it was like everything Richie dreaded most had come back to punch him in the gut. 

Did Eddie really mean those things? Did Eddie really think he was gross? Richie had never felt so insecure in his entire life. What was he doing wrong? What was the matter with him? Since he knew for a fact that Eddie is gay now, what could possibly be wrong with him, Richie?

A part of him almost wanted Eddie to be straight. That would explain the lack of attraction towards him. He wanted so badly to be Eddie’s boyfriend, but if Eddie simply weren’t interested, he wished it were because of his sexual orientation. 

But it wasn’t. 

And that hurt more than Richie thought possible. 

So he hid it in the way he laughed, the way he joked, the way everything he did was exaggerated and embellished to hide his own hurt. 

Fake it til you make it, right? Pretend to be happy, pretend to be stable, pretend that everything is all right. 

It was just like Eddie’s placebos, in a way. If the brain believed the medicine worked, it would work. He just had to believe that this was the best thing for him. 

But Jesus Christ Almighty, was it hard going day after day with no hope, no self-love, and no Eddie. In terms of people, Eddie was like anti-depressants, but when the lack of the boy’s attraction was thrown into calculations, he might just be the cause of the cuts on Richie’s wrists and the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. There was nothing left for him anymore. Eddie was his entire universe, but the fear of rejection was this black hole in the center of it, eating up all the stars Eddie had brought into Richie’s life. 

Richie was a dead man walking. 

Soon, it would eat him up from the inside out. 

There was nothing left for him anymore. Eddie had become a sort of obsession. A passion. A hobby, almost. It had become second nature to check up on him, make sure he’s doing okay, wonder what he’s doing when he’s not around. It was something stronger than love, deeper than love, hungrier and wider and more necessary than love, than oxygen, almost. It was a devotion. No--a bond, tying Richie to the brown-eyed, small-nosed, fragile boy whom he loved so dearly. 

He had always believed in soulmates. It simply made sense that some people were meant to be with others, like destiny or fate or inevitability. He wasn’t sure how this all was determined, but he did know that there was no one he was going to love the way he loved Eddie Kaspbrak. 

He hadn’t lied when he said Bill was his first crush, but he knew well enough that Eddie was going to be his first love, and his last. This being “puppy love” hadn’t even crossed his mind--there was something so intimate about whatever he was feeling with Eddie. It wasn’t sexual desire, either--although Richie was no doubt attracted to Eddie’s appearance, the yearn of Eddie becoming his romantic partner overcame that. Richie was in love with Eddie’s personality--his past, present, and future. 

And although this was true, Richie did respect Eddie’s wishes and interests. He understood that while he was platonically, romantically, and hopelessly invested in Eddie, the latter did not have to return these feelings. Richie would love Eddie no matter what, but even though it would and is eating him up inside, he couldn’t force him to, and he wouldn’t. He wanted Eddie to be happy in any way, shape, or form. If that didn’t include returning Richie’s devotion, so be it. 

As long as he could be there for Eddie, that was all that really mattered to Richie. He wasn’t stupid. He knew loving Eddie was a dangerous game, and one in which he intended to play by the rules. If he didn’t, well, there was no point to anything. 

He wished he could change his heart. He didn’t want to cry himself to sleep anymore. He didn’t want to feel utterly devastated whenever something like this happened. He was done with the heartbreak, done with the hurting, done with pretending. 

He would never give up on Eddie, though. 

Someday, maybe things would be different. Maybe he could be happy again. Maybe he could feel something other than pain and anguish. Maybe he could wake up with the love of his life in his arms, softly breathing into the light of the slowly rising sun, soft hair tickling Richie’s chin. 

But until then, he’ll stay silent and waiting. He would wait an eternity and a half for that, and the entirety of forever. 

And every moment he would spend thinking about Eddie. 

Richie kind of laughed to himself. He didn’t have just  _ one  _ train of thought, he had ten on only two railroads where the brakes didn’t work and all the conductors are screaming.  _ That was sappy and depressing _ , he scolded himself.  _ Get over yourself! And, while you’re at it, get over Eddie!  _

The boy in question was still perched on the same beanbag chair, cross-legged, typing away at his phone. Richie half-chuckled at the way Eddie only typed with his index finger, chicken-pecking away. He wondered who was so important to Eddie that he was texting them during game night. 

_ He must be gorgeous,  _ Richie thought maliciously.  _ With tan skin and a pretty laugh and an infectious smile and chiseled abs.  _ He glanced down at himself and scowled. 

“Hey Richie! You never actually did a dare!” hiccupped Ben. “Here’s a different one: I dare you to kiss Stan!”

“No way--” started Stan, but he was cut off. 

Richie leaned across his beanbag and connected his mouth to Stan’s. 

It wasn’t much of a kiss. A “kiss” is when both people reciprocate the motion. Instead, a pair of alcohol-flavored lips smashed into pursed ones. It was short-lived and thankfully so, but drunk Richie happened to be the most impulsive bastard on the planet. 

Stan wiped his mouth off into the sleeve of his cardigan. “Disgusting! What the fuck, Richie?!”

Richie giggled ominously, feeling the universe spinning around him. That had worked in keeping Eddie off his mind, if only for a second.  _ Maybe this is how I could do it,  _ Drunk-Richie rationalized to himself.  _ Keep kissing people I don’t love until Eddie is thrown from my mind.  _

Bill half-laughed, half-choked on wine from his comfort of the couch. “Izzit t-time to go home now?” he half-slurred, half-stuttered. He turned slowly to Mike, who was nodding off on the couch next to him. “H _ ey  _ handsome stranger! D-Do you happen to b-be single?”

“No!” Mike said. “I have a wonderful boyfriend!”

To everyone’s amusement, Bill began to cry. “B-But you’re so cute!” he stammered. “I wanna d-date you!”

“You are dating me, dumbass!” said Mike, rolling his eyes but smiling nonetheless. 

“I...I am?” Bill sniffed. 

“Let’s get you home, dear.” Mike hoisted Bill’s arm over his broad shoulders and lifted him bridal-style with ease. “Ben, sleep at Bev and Max’s.”

“C’mon,” Ben groaned, but he didn’t put up a fight. 

And then there were five. 

Some of the Losers tried to clean up, but the only thing they managed to do was spill wine all over the coffee table, lose half of Richie’s cards in the couch, and call Georgie again on accident with Beverly’s phone. 

“That’s enough drinking for today,” Bill’s brother had advised before hanging up. 

“Ben we’re going home!” announced Beverly, dragging him away. “G’night Eddie.”

“I’m Stan.”

“Oh. Fuck you Stan!” she shouted, before Ben hurriedly closed the door. 

“Uhh, I think I’m gonna go now, too,” mumbled Eddie, swaying on his feet. 

“Need an escort?” Richie jokingly asked. 

“Yes, please,” Eddie said, to his surprise. 

“Okay.”

Richie didn’t really know how to support Eddie, so he did what he saw Mike do, with much less grace--he swung Eddie’s legs out from underneath him, and they both came toppling down onto the couch. 

“Graceful,” snorted Stan, while Richie yelled, “Fuck off!”

The two drunk boys clamored clumsily to Bill and Eddie’s apartment, which was just across the hallway. Richie even bowed a bit when he was holding the door for Eddie. 

“Goodnight, Eds,” he hummed, tipping a pretend-hat. 

“You’re beautiful,” Eddie said in return. 

Richie felt his eyes get wide, but then he smiled sadly. “You don’t mean that, 'cause you’re drunk.”

“No you,” Eddie retorted, but there was no power in his voice. Instead, he repeated himself: “You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re drunk.”

“Beautiful.”

“Drunk.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie said, but once again, he clearly didn’t mean a word. He sang a song Richie didn’t recognize as he was stumbling into his room. 

“ _ When I am dead, my dearest,  _

_ Sing no sad songs for me;  _

_ Plant thou no roses at my head, _

_ Nor shady cypress tree; _

_ Be the green grass above me _

_ With showers and dewdrops wet; _

_ And if thou wilt, remember, _

_ And if thou wilt, forget _

_ I shall not see the shadows, _

_ I shall not feel the rain; _

_ I shall not hear the nightingale _

_ Sing on, as if in pain; _

_ And dreaming through the twilight _

_ That doth not rise nor set, _

_ Haply I may remember,  _

_ And haply may forget. _ ”


	8. bill's big problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's a bill chapter because ouch  
> someone kisses the wrong person, and it isn't exactly a dare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a short one i'm sorry

Bill’s phone started ringing at 2:14am. 

Something grunted from next to him on the bed. “Why don’t you put your phone on silent?” it groaned. 

Bill’s head pounded as he tried to find the strength to get up and go get it. “Just--g-give me a minute--” he said, stumbling. He came to the conclusion that this was not, in fact, his apartment, as he had originally thought. He also realized that the voice was not the voice of Eddie, but of his new boyfriend Mike. “I’ll find it b-baby j-just give me a second. D-Do you happen to know, uh, where my j-jeans went?”

“Somewhere in the living room, to your right,” Mike mumbled into the pillow. “We didn’t sleep together or anything, by the way. You decided to take them off when you were going to bed, so I let you. Then you tried to sleep with me, but I refused.”

Bill slowly turned red. “I’m sorry.”

“‘Is fine,” Mike said, burrowing his face back into his pillow. “I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that.”

“I a-appreciate that.”

The ringtone, which was a song from  _ The Greatest Showman,  _ stopped. Bill’s hand collided with the light switch and he hastily turned it on. 

After being in Stan and Richie’s chaotic apartment for most of the night, Mike and Ben’s was a refreshing contrast: succulents on the windowsills, the walls painted a mellow purpley-blue, and gray curtains fluttered in the slight breeze coming from the open window. Bill was shocked at how neat the two were able to keep it, and how amazing they were at decorating--well, he supposed it had mostly been Ben’s design, but Mike must have built the beautiful bookshelves and bureaus that matched the curtains wonderfully. It must have also been Mike who had framed some of Ben’s poetry and hung it up on the walls, Bill realized fondly, as Ben was shy about sharing them. 

He couldn’t admire the living room for long, however, because he needed to find his phone. He finally located it in the back pocket of his jeans that were strewn onto a fuzzy gray rug. 

1 Missed Call from “Stan the Man”. 

Stan? Why was Stan calling? Bill fired a quick text to him--“I’m at Mike’s, something you need?”--put his phone on silent for the first time outside a movie theater, threw on his jeans, grabbed some water, and navigated his way back to Mike’s room. 

“Back so soon?” Mike said dopily, much more awake but not as sober as Bill was. 

Bill set the glass of water down on Mike’s nightstand. “I’m g-gonna head back to my apartment. I’m sure Eddie’s w-worried,” he said fretfully. 

“You can stay if you want, but if that makes you more comfortable.” Mike shrugged, getting up shakily and throwing a bathrobe over the t-shirt and boxers he wore to bed. “I’ll walk you.”

“Thanks,” Bill said again, standing awkwardly in the doorframe. 

He didn’t bother with shoes, as he was sure that Mike would just return them in the morning, or perhaps he left them at Stan and Richie’s, he couldn’t remember. Instead, he fumbled his way to the door and out into the hallway. 

He began to reach into his pocket, but his hand came up empty. “Oh sh-shit, w-where are m-my k-keys?” he said in a high voice, his speech impediment directly varying with how anxious he was slowly getting. 

“It’s alright,” Mike comforted, tracing slow circles on Bill’s shoulder. “We’ll find them in the morning. Eddie’s home, right? Just knock.”

Bill raised a shaking fist and rapped twice on the door, much calmer now. “Thanks,” he said again. He seemed to be thanking Mike a lot recently. To be fair, though, he was grateful. Grateful to have stumbled across someone as perfect as Mike and grateful to have such a wonderful boyfriend. He didn’t deserve this, he knew, but for now, he was amazed at how lucky he managed to be. 

The creak of the door opening pulled Bill out of his thoughts. An Eddie Bill didn’t really recognize greeted him with dilated pupils and red-rimmed eyes. 

“Eddie? Are you d-dru--?!”

“I love you,” the drunk boy blurted, then grabbed Bill’s shirt. Before Bill could even process what was happening, Eddie pulled him down, and for a drunk, he was very strong, because Bill somehow felt his lips mashed onto Eddie’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i'm so sorry bill and eddie you're in for some serious shit  
> i also apologize to mike and richie and even stan  
> beverly and ben are probably spooning somewhere don't worry about them


	9. richie's demise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god i kind of hate this and i'm sorry for how fast it moves but i'm EXCITED

_ Fifteen minutes earlier. _

“Still can’t sleep?” 

Richie glanced at the doorway of his bedroom and saw Stan leaning against it for the second time that evening. “Yeah,” he admitted. 

“Eddie?”

“...Yeah.” Richie absent-mindedly shifted on the bed, and Stan obligingly sat down next to him, neither of them really thinking about what they were doing. “How have you been, with everything that’s happened with Bill and Mike?”

Stan raised and lowered one shoulder. “It doesn’t really matter. They’re happy together, and that’s all that matters.”

“It’s not,” Richie said gently, adjusting his glasses. “You matter too.”

“I wish that were true. And maybe it is, a little bit.” Stan shook his head impatiently, trying to get ahold of the words he wanted to say. “I don’t know. I can’t do anything about it, so why bother?”

“Staying up until two in the morning probably isn’t the way to go,” Richie joked, but it fell flat. He let it sit in the air like a hot, sticky mistake. 

“Have you been drinking?”

“Since everyone left? No. Water, yes.”

“Neither have I. Being drunk feels weird. Like I can’t control...what I’m going to do. And I can’t risk that. Not around them.”

Richie nodded, understanding exactly what Stan was getting at. He hardly ever drank as much as he pretended to because he knew that if he was around Eddie and something were to happen, he could ruin his entire life. 

Stan leaned over and grabbed a  _ Wonder Woman  _ comic off the floor. “Is this mine?” he said, accusatory, but the serious tension had gone away. 

“Oops.” Richie smirked. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“You’re so full of it.”

They grinned at each other, slipping back into the banter they’ve always had. Richie wasn’t sure where it went. 

“If you ever kiss me again, I’ll punch you in the mouth,” Stan warned. 

Richie winked. “You’re not as irresistible as you think you are, but I’ll keep that in mind.” He sighed wistfully. “I did miss--”

Before he could finish, his phone went off. 

“Guess that’s my cue to leave,” Stan said, waving off Richie with his comic book. “I know that ringtone. Go get that dick.”

Richie smiled. Everyone on his phone had the default notification noise but one, and the latter was set to the first few bars of  _ The Office  _ theme song, which was an inside joke between him and “eds spaghetti, the love of my life ♡♥💕 ”. 

“Hiiiiiiii cheeeeeeeeeee!”

Richie was a little confused, but he returned the energy with a “heyyyyyy eeeeeeeeds!”

“I lov it when u call me that LOL.”

Now his suspicions were confirmed: Eddie was, in fact, drunk as hell. There was no way in this universe or another that Eddie Kaspbrak would like it when Richie called him “Eds”. 

“are you drunk?”

“Noooooo…”

So yes then. 

Richie sighed. “You’re a dumbass,” he said, out loud, “but I love you, so I’m making it my personal responsibility to get water for you.”

“i’m coming over,” he texted, then waited for a response. When it came, it was only four words: 

“I’ll see you here”

Richie practically sprinted into the kitchen, tripping over various things on the floor while he slid across the hardwood in socks alone. He nabbed a mug out of the clean side of the sink. 

“That’s mine! I washed that!” protested Stan’s voice from the living room, but Richie refused to listen. He was out the door faster than previously humanly possible--

\--and almost ran smack into Mike. Luckily, he put the breaks on, just fast enough to focus on what the hell was happening in front of Eddie and Bill’s room. 

Bill was facing away from Richie, saying something to the shorter boy. Eddie was smiling for reasons Richie didn’t quite understand. 

“I love you,” Eddie blurted, then pulled Bill into a kiss. 

Richie felt the mug he was holding drag down his pointer finger, fall onto the floor, and shatter like a figurative heart. He hardly noticed the noise, nor the glass now stabbing into his toes through his socks, but everyone else did. 

Bill pulled away from Eddie forcefully. “R-Richie?”

Mike stepped forward, and Bill’s eyes widened. “Mike, it’s not what you think--”

“No, no, go talk to one of your other boyfriends before you turn to me,” Mike said coldly, hardly disguising the pain in his warbling voice. He shook his head, then retreated back into his room. Richie heard the lock click. 

Bill watched him go, and tears were starting to stream down his face. “M-M-M-Mike...w-w-w-wait…”

Somewhere behind Richie, a door slammed--Stan. He must have seen. Oh god, oh fuck, someone needed to take care of him--

Bill turned back to Eddie for only a moment. Richie couldn’t see his face. He couldn’t hear what Bill was saying, either--his ears were ringing. It was like a bomb had gone off in his chest. In fact, he was pretty sure one had--everything started to hurt, and what remained of his heart was beating painfully in his ribcage, hammering away into splinters. 

Every second that passed made Richie more aware of what had happened. Eddie kissed Bill. Eddie  _ loved  _ Bill. Now Bill was running down the hallway, yelling Mike’s name into the fluorescent lights, but Richie knew he wasn’t going to open up. 

And there was Eddie. Lingering at the door, smiling.  _ Stop smiling. It’s because of Bill, isn’t it? It’s because you were in love with Bill this entire fucking time since fucking  _ third grade  _ and now you’ve hurt people. I love that smile. I love  _ you _.  _

Richie didn’t know what he was doing. He was hardly aware of walking on top of broken glass to get to Eddie.  _ I can’t walk across broken glass silently. I am breaking it even more. I am breaking.  _ “I don’t understand.” Richie stared Eddie dead in the face. “I fucking loved you. How could you do this?”

Eddie still just stared and smiled. 

“Say something!” Richie demanded. “Fucking  _ talk _ !”

It occurred to him that Eddie hadn’t blinked in a little while. 

That’s when Eddie collapsed on the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh yeah. this has been my plan since the beginning but i lowkey hate how i executed it lmao.   
> leave kudos and comment!! :)


	10. eddie's accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically the past two chapters but in eddie's pov

_ Fifteen minutes before ~the incident~.  _

Eddie stepped into his bedroom after pacing around the living room, shutting and locking the door. He flattened his back up against it, then slowly slid down to the floor, the doorknob digging into his shoulder blade. He was nursing more wine that he knew Bill hid in the bureau in his bedroom, nestled between flannels and ripped jeans. 

He paused to wonder what the hell had happened tonight. It was getting hard to separate his thoughts, but he just felt...angry. Blearily, he wondered why, and then he remembered that something had happened between Richie and Stan. 

_ That’s right _ , he thought to himself.  _ They shared a kiss and they’re in love. They’re probably fucking right now, actually.  _

He kept drinking, even though a quiet voice in his head was trying to stop him.  _ You’re gonna get alcohol poisoning _ , it said, and it had the voice of twelve-year-old Eddie. 

_ Shut up, you whiny prick _ , Eddie retorted to himself. 

It occurred to him that he couldn’t see very well. He tried groping for the lightswitch, but even when his fingers made contact with it and turned it on, everything was dizzying and blurry. A familiar wave of panic overtook him, and he tried to remember how to breathe. 

Inhale for seven seconds. 

Hold for eight seconds. 

Exhale for four seconds. 

He remembered the first time he had a panic attack. It must have been fifth or sixth grade. He couldn’t really remember what happened, but he did remember that very breathing exercise, and who was there for him. 

Richie. 

It was always Richie, wasn’t it? Richie was always right there by his side, helping him through attacks, calming him down, fixing things for him. It was like he had seen all of Eddie’s broken pieces and carefully mended them with a cheeky smile and stupid joke. And Eddie loved him for it. 

_ I love...Richie? _

It should’ve been obvious, but Eddie had never actually admitted that to himself. It should’ve been clear from the way his heart swelled whenever Richie dropped his name or nickname into a sentence, or from the combined years’ worth of time Eddie spent thinking about him, or from wondering how good it would feel to fall asleep in Richie’s arms. 

_ But love can’t be this simple. I have to think about this-- _

_ No _ , a stronger voice in him said.  _ You can’t think about this love stuff. This is a fact.  _

“No,” Eddie weakly protested aloud, but he knew even then that it wasn’t something he could fight. He loved Richie Tozier. More than that, he was  _ in  _ love with Richie Tozier. 

There was a difference, but in this case, it was both. As for just plain love, that could mean anything. He loved polo shirts, he loved Beverly Marsh, he loved small town fairs. This meant his heart had made a connection with those things and people, but that wasn’t “in” love. 

“In” love was when his heart made an investment in that person. He had only been in love with one person, and that person was Richie Tozier. He didn’t want to believe it. How  _ could  _ he believe it?! But there was something about him that he couldn’t tear himself away from. 

But did he belong to Stan now?

_ What does Stan have that I don’t? _ was the next spiteful thought that went through Eddie’s alcohol-slowed mind. As soon as he thought that, though, he felt ashamed. He loved Stan! Why was he doing this?

And, it was obvious. Stan was amazing. He was attractive, smart, funny, and everything Richie would want in a guy, right?

He refilled his glass. 

They could even be a couple right now. It wouldn’t be hard--they lived together. They could be sharing the same bed, watching movies together, holding hands when the rest of the Losers weren’t paying attention--

_ You’re being illogical.  _

“Shut  _ up! _ ” Eddie roared at himself. He was done with this. He didn’t want anymore. 

_ Here’s what I’m gonna do,  _ Eddie told himself.  _ I’m gonna text Richie, invite him over, and confess my feelings for him. Simple as that.  _

He didn’t know where this authority came from (likely from the alcohol he’s consumed) but he had never been so sure of something in his entire life. 

So he found his phone, fumbled with the buttons, but eventually managed to tell “Trashmouth Tozier [ 💙 ](https://emojipedia.org/blue-heart/) ” to come over. Or maybe Richie offered to come over and he accepted, he couldn’t tell. Everything was blurring together into one big sludgy mess. 

Soon enough, Eddie heard a knock at the door. He stumbled over and opened it, and the light from the hallway was so bright that all he could see was a lanky, tall silhouette of a person. 

Before he could chicken out, Eddie blurted “I love you” and kissed him. 

His eyes widened in shock, finally realizing what he had done. 

He had kissed Richie Tozier! What the hell was he  _ thinking _ ?! He could have just ruined everything. 

But the boy he had kissed wasn’t saying anything. Well, maybe he was saying something, but Eddie couldn’t understand a word. Someone shouted, a door slammed, and someone else ran off, their footsteps echoing down the hallway. 

Eddie just smiled. He was kind of proud of himself, for kissing Richie. Finally. It had been weirder than Eddie expected--he hadn’t kissed anyone else, but he thought that Richie’s lips would be less...cold. It was cold, he thought, and he didn’t think Richie actually kissed back. 

Did he?

Eddie couldn’t remember. 

Where was his wine? He had just had it. Where had it gone?

Where was Richie going?

Suddenly, someone else was in front of Eddie, shouting in his face. Eddie couldn’t make out a single word. Well, that wasn’t true--he was pretty sure he heard one word--“loved.” 

_ Loved, loved, loved.  _

Lover boy. He was just a lover boy, his drug Richie Tozier and he was addicted. More powerfully than antidepressants, more intoxicating than wine, longer than an adrenaline rush. The only thing standing in the way of his ill-fated romance with the love of his life was Eddie himself. 

Loser boy. God, what was he thinking? He wasn’t anything to anyone. He was worthless, useless, dispensable. He was only a loser. He was nothing. 

Eddie’s eyesight blurred, not only because of tears. Everything became fuzzy, just smudges of light and shadow. All he could hear was static. 

He hit the ground fast and hard but didn’t feel a thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yEaY sUfFeRiNg  
> i wanted so badly to wait to post this but i just couldn't help myself :,)  
> *grabby hands* give me kudos ? 🥺🥺


	11. mike's situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: PANIC ATTACK  
> a mike chapter because he deserves better and i love him  
> *chapter spoilers* hanbrough is BACK baYBEE  
> this is kind of a long one and it took me awhile, apologies! thank you for the nice comments, i love y'all!

The waiting room was too bright for something so dark. 

Mike couldn’t help but wonder how many families had received bad news here. How many mothers have been told that their son or daughter died of cancer? How many people have received the news that their friend wasn’t going to wake up? How many children have been distracted in this very room while their grandmother flatlined? He shuddered at the thought. 

He sat away from Bill, next to Beverly. He hadn’t spoken to Bill since he saw him kiss Eddie. He had ignored every text and call, putting his phone on silent and locking it in the drawer of a bureau he had built himself, nestled between stacks of books, board games, and movies he and Ben owned. He didn’t use it much anyway, only started to use it when he wanted to talk to Bill. 

But he wasn’t mad at Eddie. He was, sure. But after Richie came sprinting into Mike’s room, screaming to call 9-1-1, saying Eddie had fainted--it was hard to be mad at a hospitalized boy. 

It hadn’t been immediate, either--fifteen minutes of solid pounding at the door had gone by before Mike had opened it, expecting to tell Bill off, but instead found a hysterical Richie bawling Eddie’s name repeatedly. Mike couldn’t help but blame himself for not reacting fast enough. If he had opened the door right away, would Eddie still be on a hospital bed somewhere with bright lights and stethoscope-clad doctors, as he was now? Is it possible that Eddie could die?

Mike lowered his face into his hands, whimpering softly as he imagined that future--a future where his own selfishness resulted in not only death, but in the death of one of his close friends. It was out of his hands now, but there was still the possibility of that future becoming a reality. 

He snuck a peek at Bill, who was holding Richie’s hand. He expected to feel jealous, but once he saw them both, looking as broken as two men could be, he couldn’t find anything but pity and sympathy to produce. 

Bill was paler than Mike had ever seen anyone: his flesh was ghostly, as if he wasn’t actually present in the waiting room. His hair was disheveled, every strand of auburn hair standing up in different directions. His eyes were empty and his cheeks were sallow. He wasn’t moving whatsoever, and Mike couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually breathing--Mike couldn’t help but wonder whether Bill wanted to be breathing. He missed Bill a lot, but pride was getting the best of him. 

Even though Bill looked like a disaster, it was nothing compared to the fragile mess that he was holding hands with. Richie seemed to be unable to stop moving--his leg was jiggling beneath him, his free hand was tapping the armrest of the chair he was sitting on, and he seemed to be constantly blinking. _Tears,_ Mike realized dumbly. Richie was crying. That was something Mike never thought he would experience--seeing the seemingly happiest person he had ever known cry. Richie didn’t cry like a man or even a teenage boy; he cried like a small child and Mike hated seeing him this way. His lips trembled unceasingly as he tried to keep his quiet choked-sobs to himself, only half successful. His glasses were fogged from all the tears that were slipping down his face and trailing down his neck, slowly but effectively soaking his shirt. He hadn’t changed since last night, and it was now about seven in the morning. No one had slept or eaten, but Richie looked the worst of all. 

Next to Richie was Stan. Mike was surprised to see that while his own eyes had wandered to him aimlessly, Stan’s eyes were boring right into Mike’s soul. It didn’t seem to be out of sadness, either--Mike could feel the heat of Stan’s anger from across the room. Why was Stan angry? Why wasn’t he sad, like Richie, or even expressionless, like Bill? It was scary, but almost...Mike winced as soon as the thought crossed his mind... _hot_?

Mike shook his head and blinked hard, turning away from Stan’s astringent gaze. 

Ben was across from Bill, and he had his arm on Beverly’s knee, but whether he was comforting the sobbing Beverly or himself, Mike couldn’t tell. He appeared to be scared, very scared; he wasn’t as pale as Bill, but he was close, and he was sweating abundantly. His legs quaked with every intake of breath. 

As for Beverly, her lips were pressed together, clearly trying to keep her tears to herself. Mike felt bad for her, as he knew she was insecure at how loudly she cried, which is why she had to keep it together. Her hand was on top of Ben’s, and she was clinging to the armrest between her and Mike with her free hand. 

_It was kind of a toss-up,_ Mike realized. _We’ve got depressed, anxious, angry, scared, and sad, respectively. It’s a collectible set._

And how was he feeling?

It was hard to determine. 

Of course he was upset about Eddie’s condition. He didn’t know much--after the ambulance showed up, it all got kind of blurry. 

At first, he was angry at Eddie and Bill. 

Then he was terrified. 

Then he was a crying mess. 

But now, he didn’t feel anything at all. 

And that scared him even more. 

He just wanted to go back to game night, when he and Bill were a happy couple, Ben and Beverly were as cute together as always, and Richie was doing his familiar banter with a very conscious, very healthy Eddie. 

And Stan...what was Stan doing? Why couldn’t Mike remember?

 _Oh, of course,_ Mike thought, annoyed with himself. _I was so wrapped up in Bill that I didn’t pay attention to him._

...Damn. That was a sad thought. How was Stan doing? Mike turned to him again, but immediately wished he hadn’t, for Stan was still glaring with the power of a wounded man. 

_Murderer,_ the look seemed to whisper. _Murderer, murderer, murderer._

Mike felt sick. 

But then something became so clear in his mind, something he hadn’t even thought about since the accident--Eddie was in love with Richie. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered, then turned to look at Richie. Taking in the tears, the loose ends, the broken heart. 

Did Richie have feelings for Eddie?

But then Mike’s gaze shifted to Bill, and he realized one very important fact: 

Eddie had not meant to kiss Bill. 

Eddie was going to take Mike’s advice that night, and was too drunk to realize that the person at his doorstep was a keyless Bill, and not the love of Eddie’s life. That explains why Richie was behind Mike to begin with! Those two didn’t correlate at all. It was all a mistake!

Suddenly it was very difficult to breathe. He tried to control the hiccupping gasps for breath, but it was as if someone had taken his lungs and forced them to deflate and collapse in on themselves. Sharp, cold fingers crawled up his throat, and he started gasp-choking, his hands at his neck. 

“Mike?” Beverly said. “Jesus, Mike, are you alright?”

Ragged breathing combined with racking sobs, and Mike bent over, trying very hard to get himself back together. 

“Holy shit!” yelled Stan, and Mike dully heard the chair Stan was sitting on thud to the floor, knocked over. “Hey! Someone! Anyone! We’re in a _fucking hospital_ so someone better help my friend!”

_My friend._

“Oh my God,” said the voice of someone--Bill, he thought--and he heard the clapping of sneakers against tile floor thumping off in the other direction. 

“Mike?” That was Ben, his voice a high quiver.

“Help!” Stan overlapped. 

“Everyone shut up!” someone roared. Mike was on the ground at this point, but he knew who was talking nonetheless--Richie. _Richie?!_

Everyone shut up, and Richie’s face, haloed in hospital light, appeared in Mike’s swimming vision. 

“Mike, I’m gonna need you to breathe for me, can you do that?” Richie said, in the gentlest voice Mike had ever heard. He shook his head. “Alright, breathe in through your nose for seven seconds.”

Calmed by Richie’s voice, he nodded and obeyed. Already, he felt some of his nerves un-tense. 

“Now I want you to hold your breath for eight seconds,” Richie said. To Mike’s surprise, Richie put a hand on his cheek and used his thumb to wipe away a tear on his cheek. 

“Exhale out your mouth for four seconds.”

Mike let it all out in a choppy breath, then repeated the steps. 

“You alright?” Richie said, offering his hand. 

“Y-Yeah. Thanks to you.” Mike smiled, taking it. “How did you learn that?”

“So many of my friends have anxiety, as do I,” Richie said carefully, helping Mike to his feet with a casual shrug. Mike let Richie pretend to fix his glasses while wiping away old tears. “It’s pretty helpful to have a strategy to overcome panic attacks.”

“That was a panic attack?” Mike said, bewildered. He realized Richie must be used to these, and he felt so sorry for the boy standing in front of him. “It felt like death.” 

“It’ll do that,” Richie said with a small smile. 

Bill skidded into the room, out of breath. “The--d-doctor’s--” He cut himself off, staring at the scene in front of him. Everyone was on their feet, but Mike was breathing normally now. 

Everyone held their breath as Mike slowly approached Bill. He heard the catch in Bill’s own breath rattle in his lungs as Mike cupped his cheek, the contrast of his dark hands on Bill’s fair complexion lessened with the rose-colored blush that was now trailing up Bill’s neck and onto his cheeks. Mike felt the heat under his own hand before he kissed him. 

Their mouths made contact in midair, and unlike their first kiss, this was an _I’m-sorry_ kiss, this was an _I-forgive-you-kiss,_ this was an _I-love-you_ kiss. Mike poured everything he had into it, begging Bill to understand how terribly he had misread everything and how much he missed him, and Bill returned the energy just as hungrily, wrapping his arms around Mike’s neck and swaying them back and forth. 

A handful of the Losers wolf-whistled and Richie made some ill-timed joke, but it was all lost on Mike and Bill. They were staring deep into each other’s eyes, healing each other. 

“I have so much to tell you,” Mike said finally, after they broke apart. 

“Edward Kaspbrak’s family?” 

Just as suddenly as everyone was okay again, they turned frantically to the doctor in the doorway. There was a doctor, a woman with a short, sleek bob of white hair and a small mouth painted with red lipstick. 

“That’s us,” Bill said awkwardly, pulling away from Mike and putting his hands in his pockets. “Edward K-Kaspbrak’s family.”

_Family._

That was a good word. Strong togetherness. After all, the Losers _were_ kind of like family, right? They were the best family each other had. They all even bickered together like married couples. 

The doctor frowned. “Come with me. You’ll probably want to see this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert: it's not good news  
> (i have a three day weekend so i'll likely be cranking chapters out now! happy early MLK day to those that celebrate!)


	12. stan's story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hospital scene, some bill x mike x stan, and oops!

“Alcohol poisoning?” Richie said blankly. 

The appearingly friendly doctor, who told the Losers to call her by her first name, Christie, nodded. “I’m afraid your friend has fallen into a coma.”

Beverly sobbed even louder. Without even thinking, Stan numbly grabbed her hand. She held on tight and buried her face in Stan’s shoulder. 

This was insane. How much had he drank? Would he land in trouble with the police for underage drinking? Stan mutely tried to recall the fuzzy events of the night before, his head pounding. 

“He’ll probably live through it,” Christie was saying, “but we don’t know how much brain damage could be caused. We don’t want you to visit him right now, but come back tomorrow and we’ll see if he can have visitors.”

Although Stan was listening to every word, he was also watching the other Losers. Ben had his arm around Beverly, trying to comfort her as she wailed against Stan. Richie had found a wall to lean against, and he was blinking away tears rapidly as he slid down onto the floor. Bill was a mess, his arms tightly around Mike’s neck. Mike had his hand on Bill’s back, but was staring over the latter’s shoulder into the distance. 

Stan couldn’t muster any jealousy. All he found was sadness and pity. What happened last night with Bill felt insignificant to the troubles they were now all facing. He should’ve been there for Eddie. It was his fault--he had been so upset to see Eddie kiss Bill, even though he wasn’t in a relationship with either of them. Stupidly, he had neglected Richie in favor of moping by himself in his room. He didn’t hear the pounding on the door. He couldn’t even imagine how it would feel for Mike. He had been so selfish. 

He couldn’t help but think that he should be the one in the coma. He deserved it more than Eddie did. He hated himself for everything that had happened. 

What if everyone took that kiss as a personal offense and hadn’t shown up to the hospital? Even worse, what if no one was there to help him? What if Mike had refused to call 9-1-1? What if Richie had turned his back?

But as the last question surfaced, Stan couldn’t help but find it stupid. No matter what Eddie did, no matter who he kissed, no matter what he said, Richie would never turn his back on him. Stan knew that as a fact. 

Carefully, he embraced Beverly, then gently pried her hands off and handed her to Ben. Silently, he walked over to Richie, took both of the broken boy’s hands in his own, hand helped him to his feet. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered into Richie’s hair, bringing his arms around Richie’s neck, and feeling the shorter boy wrap his arms around Stan’s torso and sob into Stan’s shirt. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

Just as he said that, he felt strong arms hug him from behind and froze. Mike. After his initial panic of  _ ohmygodmycrushishuggingme  _ passed, he felt Bill’s arms slide around him, and the same feeling overtook his senses. Then Ben joined, then Beverly. They were a crying puddle of people, sure, but they were united again, all the broken bonds tied back together. 

However, a low voice in Stan’s ear sent chills up his spine, and suddenly he was terrified all over again. “We need to talk.”

All Stan could do was nod quietly. 

When everyone detangled themselves, they left the hospital, despite Richie’s protests. While everyone was walking out together, Stan hung back. The only people who could drive were Ben, Bill, and Mike, although Ben and Bill were the only ones with cars. The ride to the hospital was an awkward one with just Bill, but they were now back in their usual cars, where Bill was driving Mike and Ben was driving Beverly and Richie. Normally, Stan would ride with Ben, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to get that privilege today. 

When they reached Bill’s red pickup truck, Stan’s heart was like a trapped bird, its wings beating quick and fast against his ribcage. He wondered what the two had figured out about him. What if they knew that he was crushing on them both? His entire reputation and all of his friendships could be ruined. 

Mike opened the door for him courteously, and Stan took this as a good sign. An angry person wouldn’t do such things, Stan supposed, but on the other hand, he had never seen Mike angry.  _ He could be the passive-aggressive type, _ Stan thought anxiously. 

Bill signaled to Ben that he would follow them, and when Ben’s Honda pulled out of the parking lot, Bill cut the engine. 

Both guys turned around and stared at Stan, their faces identically emotionless. 

Mike must have seen the fear in Stan’s eyes, though, because he cracked a smile. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” he said lightly, but Stan still very much felt like he was in trouble. 

“So. A-About last night,” Bill said, direct as always. “I know you saw what happened b-between Eddie and me.”

“...Yeah,” Stan said, never feeling so small in his entire life. He wondered if one of the two had seen or heard him crying. He prayed not. “What about it?”

Mike smiled. “So obviously, Bill doesn’t have feelings for Eddie, and it was a result of his drunken state.”

Stan nodded slowly. “Get to the point,” he sighed, trying to hide the anxious tones from his voice. “What has this got to do with me?”

“R-Richie and Eddie.” 

Stan’s confusion wasn’t lost on Mike. “We think we both know the same secret, and we wanna let you in on our plans. So, when did you find out?”

“Oh!” Stan said, everything starting to come together. Richie had told Bill and/or Mike about his crush, and that’s what they were talking about. “Last night, but I’ve known for a while beforehand as well.”

“He’s n-not exactly subtle,” joked Bill. 

“Yeah,” Stan laughed awkwardly. “But when did Richie tell you guys?”

The smiles dropped off both boys’ faces in an instant. 

“Wait, what?” Mike said, leaning forward. “We were talking about Eddie liking Richie!”

“Eddie likes Richie!” Stan screeched. “I thought you were talking about Richie liking Eddie!”

“R-Richie likes Eddie?!” Bill exclaimed. 

“Yes!” Mike and Stan shouted in unison. 

“ _ Shit! _ ” Stan buried his face in his hands. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone! Richie is going to kill me! I’m such a terrible friend!”

“It’s alright, it was j-just a misunderstanding!” comforted Bill, but the excitement in his expression was undoubtedly still there. “We  _ have  _ to get them together!”

“We have to?” Stan leaned back in his seat, trying to appear confident. “Don’t meddle, just let them do what they normally do.”

“That hasn’t w-worked for the p-past eighteen years,” Bill said with an eye roll, starting up the car. “It’s time we do something.”

“Disagreed,” Stan said mildly, making eye contact with Mike in the rearview mirror, begging him to agree with him with soulful eyes. 

Mike nodded in agreement, then looked at Bill. “Baby, I think Stan’s right.”

Stan felt heat rise to his cheeks, delighted with his newfound ability to get what he wants.  _ Mike’s eyes look especially beautiful in the sunlight,  _ he thought to himself fondly. Dark brown eyes turned into golden pools of honey, which was a definite look, especially on Mike. Bill’s eyes, on the other hand, were an incredible whirlpool of blue, green, and gray. It was as though someone captured the Pacific ocean on a day where the sun was shining, coral reefs were thriving, and everything was beautiful. 

“Eddie helped me w-with you,” Bill retorted. “I’m j-just returning the favor.” He took a sharp turn, sending Stan flying into the other seat and hitting his head on the window. 

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Stan said, rubbing the back of his head, which was starting to hurt, “but this is Eddie and Richie we’re talking about.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bill said sharply, and Stan immediately regretted his decision to open his mouth, but Mike cut him off. 

“No, he didn’t mean it like that,” he said calmly. “I get it, Stan. I didn’t realize I was queer until a few years ago when I started liking Bill. And I know you didn’t like me then, so don’t try to convince me of that.”

Bill opened his mouth and shut it. “I guess y-you’re right. And Eddie has liked Richie for f-f-forever, if what Mike’s told me is true. Richie has liked Eddie--”

“--since seventh grade,” Stan confirmed. “So this is a bit different. This could ruin everything.”

“I’m g-giving them two months,” Bill said with finality, “before I start meddling.”

“But...Eddie’s in a coma,” Stan reminded him, feeling his heart hurt for the boy they were leaving. Eddie was going to have some sort of brain damage and was comatose, and they were gossiping about his love life. That was a terrible thing to do. 

Bill’s knuckles whitened as he pulled into the parking lot of their apartment building. “I fucking forgot. Shit.”

“It’s alright. We’re all hungover,” Mike comforted. He smiled at Stan. “Thanks for your help, Uris.”

“Thanks for yours too, Hanlon,” Stan said awkwardly, unbuckling. “And for the record, I completely didn’t mean to tell y’all. That’s not on me.”

“F-Fair enough,” said Bill, cutting the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a long one but it's worth it i swear


	13. richie's idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to the absolutely lovely Katness2019. You are a god and ilysm. 
> 
> This chapter includes characters from Stranger Things, but does not include any spoilers from any season. Also, because this is a realistic story, Eleven doesn't have her powers and is instead referred to as Jane Eleanor Hopper.   
> If you don't know Stranger Things, it's alright, just pretend they're two made-up characters, it's not really relevant besides moving the plot. (Also I love Elmax with my entire heart and soul.)
> 
> Another note: Poor Richie. I would move heaven and earth for him. 

“You can stay in my apartment,” offered Ben after they got back into the building. “The others probably got caught up in traffic.”

“That’s okay,” Richie said, fixing his glasses so that they weren’t hanging off the tip of his nose. “I’ll wait for Stan.”

“Ben, you and Richie can chill at ours,” offered Beverly. “Max and I won’t mind. We can order Chinese food if you’d like.”

She had mellowed out since the incident at the hospital, and Richie could tell it was only because she wanted to hold it together for him. That hurt him more than it helped him--he didn’t want to be the cause of her hidden feelings--but he couldn’t figure out a way to bring it up to her. He knew she would just brush it off as him reading too far into things. 

“Sounds perfect,” Richie said, not for himself, but for Beverly. He deeply cared about her, and if she didn’t want to be alone, he wasn’t going to let her be. 

It was only when he entered the apartment and saw Beverly’s roommate when he registered what he was agreeing to. 

“Trashmouth,” Max greeted, embracing Beverly quickly and waving to Ben. “It’s been a while.” She looked about the same from when they were seventeen, but her hair was a lot shorter now, like Beverly’s. 

“About a year, yeah,” Richie said stiffly, suddenly unsure where to put his hands. 

“Welcome to our apartment,” Max said with a smile, pulling Richie headfirst into a hug. He breathed in her familiar scent, which was like a light, earthy jasmine, and hugged her back, surprised. They hadn’t ended on the best terms, but he supposed that both times and people changed. 

“I heard about your boyfriend,” she whispered in his ear, “and I feel really terrible. I’m not going to bring it up after this, because I know Beverly won’t take it well, but I know things.”

Richie froze. “Max...he’s not my boyfriend.”

She pulled away from the hug, but still had her hands on his shoulders. She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What has Beverly told you?!” he exclaimed, shocked, but Max had already started up conversation with Ben. 

A bit of small talk later, there was a knock on the door. 

Max looked a little flustered. “Guys, that must be my girlfriend, Jane Hopper. Please don’t embarrass me?”

“Oh, congrats,” Richie said, a bit confused but meaning it. “Wouldn’t dream of being an embarrassment.”

Max opened the door, and Richie automatically saw the redhead’s smile grow to the happiest he’d ever seen her. “Jane! You came!” Max kissed the girl quickly on the cheek and welcomed her in. 

“Of course I came, but only for your food,” giggled Jane.  _ She’s pretty,  _ thought Richie. Even though he was gay, he knew a pretty girl when he saw one. She had short brown hair with streaks of blonde, a warm smile, and was wearing a trendy romper that brought out the flecks of gold in her dark eyes. “Hi!” she said, sticking out her hand to Richie. 

He took it. “Richie Tozier,” he said. 

“I know,” she said mysteriously. 

Richie smiled. He liked her spunk. She passed the test Richie didn’t even know that he had. 

The five of them settled on the various couches in the Marsh-Mayfield apartment. The two girls had an apartment that was both very well-decorated and cluttered, which he admired. He could see aspects of both personalities incorporated in the design--the rustic aesthetic was clearly Beverly’s idea, whereas the retro 80s-style touch was absolutely Max’s. The arcade game in the corner was definitely Max’s influence, but the photographs and paintings and postcards arranged on the red wall was without a doubt Beverly. 

Richie couldn’t help but feel suffocated in the apartment, though. It wasn’t Beverly and Ben’s nor Max and Jane’s fault that they were all happy and lovey together, but he was painfully aware that he was the fifth wheel. Eddie should’ve been here in his arms, and not laying motionless in a hospital someplace. Even watching some stupid movie about a killer clown couldn’t brighten his mood. 

“Hey, Trashmouth!” Max said, her tone goofing but her face concerned. “Why don’t you go take a shower or something, man? You look like shit.” 

Richie had long since adapted to Max-language, and knew this translated to something along the lines of,  _ “our home is your home, please take care of yourself, we want to see you happy.” _ And Richie platonically loved her for it. “Yeah, maybe,” he said absent-mindedly. 

He got a text from “mad max ❤️”. Richie had forgotten to change her name to something without a heart in it, but it had been so long that it slipped his mind. He quickly changed her contact to “mad max”, then read the message: 

“seriously. go shower. you stink.”

“ilyt i guess.”

“you know as well as i do that i just want you to be safe and take your mind off things. might help ya to take a nice hot shower, that’s all.”

“i appreciate your concern but i don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.”

“fair enough, but if you want, you can go home. i’ll cover for you.”

“you’re the best partner in crime i could ask for,” he sent with a smile. 

“obviously. i’ll take care of bev. get your ass home.”

“thanks max.”

“anytime tozier”

Richie watched Max slide her phone back into her bomber jacket, then pull Jane into a kiss. “Can we watch a romantic movie?” she said, her lips brushing Jane’s ever-so-slightly as if teasing. 

Richie was about free before he heard Beverly call out, “But what about Rich--”

He heard Max say something covering him in response and smiled. He was glad to have her on his side again. It was like old times, minus the fake love. 

As he made his way to his apartment, he reflected on how hard that time had been for him. Deep down he knew that he didn’t love Max, or at least, not in that way. There was something always off, like he was wearing a mask around her that even he didn’t know what was under. It was a scary thought, but a factual one at that. 

He had always felt like he was doing something wrong with Max, like he might have a gay freak-out and everyone would know what was wrong with him. He genuinely liked her, but every time they kissed he pictured Eddie’s lips on his own. 

If there was one thing that Richie hated more than anything in the world, it was that Eddie deserved every single star in the whole universe, and Richie just couldn’t provide it. Richie isn’t anyone special. Richie’s just a hopeless romantic who tells stupid jokes to make up for the fact that he’s hiding underneath layers and layers of suppressed trauma. 

_ Eddie deserves better than me _ , Richie thought gloomily as he unlocked his apartment door. I’m  _ the one who should be in a coma right now. Not Eddie. I deserve that much.  _

Before he could storm into the apartment, though, he smelled something odd. He sniffed again, and realized what he was smelling was...cookies? It was simultaneously homely and suspicion-invoking at the same time. 

When Richie threw open the door, he was met by a smiling Stan. Before he could make some sarcastic quip, Stan wrapped an arm around Richie’s shoulders and pulled him close, gently rubbing his arm. Despite the heaviness in Richie’s stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of Stan’s affection. He sunk into the warmth of Stan’s side, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch made the room warmer somehow, Richie’s future within its walls seeming a little less bleak. Stan wasn’t one for showing his love, and all of the Losers respected that, but it was truly amazing when Stan would randomly hug them, like what was happening now. 

But that made Richie very, very suspicious. “Not like I don’t appreciate this,” he started cautiously, “but what did you do now?”

“What, I can’t hug my best friend and roommate because I love him?” Stan giggled, delicately kissing Richie on the forehead. 

“Okay, you’ve definitely been drugged.” Richie pulled away smoothly and wandered into the kitchen. “Who are you and what the fuck have you done with my Stanley Uris?”

“I made cookies! Your favorite!” said Stan, breezing right by the question. “Double chocolate chunk.”

Another thing Richie had learned from his years of befriending Stan was that being over-the-top nice meant he was feeling guilty. Or in love. Guilty and in love?

“You drove home with Mike and Bill.” Realization dawned on Richie slower than he’d like to admit. “That went well, I assume?”

Something unrecognizable flashed in Stan’s eyes, but it went away faster than Richie had time to process it. “Yeah! We talked about--”

“Look, I don’t really care,” Richie said, overlapping. “All I know is that you’re having a grand old time with the loves of your life, and Beverly and Ben are  _ also  _ rubbing elbows, and Max and Jane, you’re all in lover’s paradise, while Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, the only boy I will ever love, is in a coma. Do you realize that? Do you realize how shitty of a person that makes you?”

Every word seemed to sting. Stan flinched at every hurtful syllable. “You’re right,” he said, ashamed, but the damage had been done. “But do you think I don’t already blame myself?”

This caught Richie off-guard. “Huh?”

“I could’ve been there for him, for you, even. I could’ve called 9-1-1. I could’ve saved him.” Stan wasn’t crying, he just stated these things as facts. “It’s my fault. But no. I saw him kiss Bill and got selfish.”

“How the fuck could this all be  _ your  _ fault?” Richie said, bewildered. Guiltily, he scolded himself,  _ You literally just told him it was, fuckface. Way to fucking go.  _

“Richie, I think…” Stan drifted off mid-sentence, looking like he couldn’t finish the rest. 

An idea sparked in Richie’s mind. “Can you drive?”

“Absolutely not.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, and Richie couldn’t even tell whether Stan was saying no to driving or no to his idea. 

“I’m sorry, I heard that as a ‘Yes, Richie, I will take you to the hospital to see Eddie’,” Richie said in a high-pitched voice, grinning from ear to ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooOooOOOOooOOoOoOOOOOoOOOOOO  
> I GOT THREE STRANGER THINGS AND IT SHIRTS I'M SO HAPPY  
> I don't think I can write angst for much longer if I'm being honest, I love my Lo(s/v)ers too much :')  
> question: if I wrote more fanfiction after this is done, would y'all read it?


	14. eddie's fever dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok so basically, this is Eddie's dream until the very end cause I'm gonna get bored writing the same stuff over and over. I based it off of another AMAZING reddie fic I read, if I remember it I'll write the title here:

It was dark. 

That’s all he was really sure of--the darkness. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. 

He was cold. 

Icy paws seemed to be grabbing his shoulders and filling his lungs with a cold, dead breath. Was he dead? He didn’t even know. 

It was terrifying. 

That much was clear--adrenaline rushed so quickly through his bloodstream that he almost passed out. This was scary. He was scared. He was twelve again, clinging to Richie’s hand because he was scared of whatever was hiding in the sewers--

Richie. He had ruined things with Richie, he was positively sure of it. He should have kept his hands to himself. He should have never tried anything. Maybe that’s why he was where he is right now. Maybe he was dying of a broken heart. 

Slowly, feeling regained in his legs, which spread like warm honey to his fingers, until he became remotely aware of where he was. He seemed to be back in his own bed, staring up at the same glow-in-the-dark star stickers that he’d always had. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” said a sleepy voice. “Bad dreams?”

Eddie blinked, trying to orient himself. In his face was the fuzzy outline of dark bed-hair framing an adorable smile. Eddie almost didn’t recognize him without his glasses, but when he did, he was appalled. “R-Richie?!”

“I thought stuttering was Bill’s thing,” Richie said lightly, then moved even closer. 

Eddie’s heart leaped into his throat when Richie cupped Eddie’s face in his palms and kissed him on the lips. 

Eddie didn’t know how to kiss but Richie clearly did, expertly and passionately pouring everything he could muster into kissing him, kissing Eddie. His lips were warm and soft and felt amazing on Eddie’s own. 

“Good morning to you too,” Eddie said, amazed. A dull thought in his head reminded him that he would never stop being amazed by anything Richie does, especially kissing him.  _ Weird,  _ he thought,  _ I’ve only kissed him once, right? That one drunken August night. And then I fainted-- _

“Was it bad dreams, though?” Richie said concernedly, running a hand down Eddie’s neck and cradling his head protectively. 

“I think so,” hummed Eddie, leaning in to peck his boyfriend again. 

_ Boyfriend? You’re not Richie’s boyfriend! What the hell is going on? _

Richie offered his hand to Eddie, and the shorter boy took it, smiling. “What about?”

“Well, I was drunk, and...I mean,  _ really  _ drunk…” Eddie’s voice started speeding up, so Richie rubbed his hand with his thumb encouragingly. “I think I kissed you? It was my first kiss, I think. We were about eighteen, I was living with Bill, it was game night…speaking of Bill, where is he? He lives here.”

Richie looked very concerned for a moment. “Eddie, that was last year. And you didn’t kiss me. You kissed Bill.” He smiled sadly and shook his head, bringing their hands into his lap. “Boy, was I jealous. But then you fell into a coma caused by alcohol poisoning and I couldn’t bring myself to be mad.”

“I...I did?” Something felt very, very wrong here. This wasn’t real. This  _ couldn’t  _ be real. This hasn’t happened yet. 

“Are you okay?” Richie said hurriedly. “They told us your memory would be fucked up, but is it that bad? Eddie, do you remember me?”

“I…” Eddie pulled his hand away. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. But you don’t love me back, Richie. This isn’t real. You aren’t real.”

“I  _ am  _ real!” Richie insisted, starting to get frustrated. “And I love  _ you _ ! What the hell is going on, Eds?”

“I was in a coma?” Eddie said in a small voice. 

“Yes,” Richie said impatiently, but he softened when Eddie flinched. “For  _ three days  _ I was allowed to sit by your side. I was holding your hand. I didn’t really sleep, I only went home once when the doctor made us. The Losers,” he added, seeing Eddie’s confusion. “Stan drove me to the hospital one day--he almost crashed three times, this was before he got his license--but we made it, everything was fine except for the fact that you were dying. All of the other Losers came and went, but I always stayed. I couldn’t leave you.”

“We--We live together? In my old apartment? Where’s Bill?”

This was all too much to process, so Eddie tried to focus on one thing at a time. 

Richie’s eyebrows knitted together. “Eddie, he lives in my old apartment. With Stan and Mike.”

“Why does he live with them?” Eddie’s head hurt, bad. It was hard to breathe. 

Richie looked at him as if he were crazy. “They’re dating. Eddie, are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Eddie’s mouth pinched determinedly. “You’re not real. None of this is real.”

“It  _ is  _ real!” Richie insisted. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m calling Dr. Christie.”

“No need,” Eddie retorted. “Richie, this can’t be real. I couldn’t have just forgotten an entire year. I’m in a coma. I need to get out.”

Eddie walked crazily across the room. He couldn’t even remember getting up. “I need to get out of here.”

“Eddie,” Richie’s voice said helplessly. “Can you hear me?”

Eddie stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to Richie. “What did you say?” he said quietly. 

“I didn’t say anything,” said Richie. “I’m calling Dr.--”

But a louder voice, a voice stronger than Dream-Richie’s, cut over him. “I miss you,” it said. “I miss you so fucking much, Eds, you couldn’t even imagine--”

“--we need to get help, you’re clearly not right in the head--”

“--this is my fault, I love you too much to let you--”

“--are you playing a prank? Eddie gets off a good one--”

“--please wake up, I love you--”

Dream-Richie scowled. “Are you even listening to me?”

Eddie stared at him, not even in the slightest. “Richie?” he said hopefully. 

It was surreal, hearing Richie’s voice but not seeing Dream-Richie’s lips move at all. 

“If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

Eddie did the only thing he thought would work--he dug his fingers so deep into his palm that they drew blood, but he didn’t even register the pain. He couldn’t even hear Richie anymore, everything was meshing into the same golden blur, nothing was solid or guaranteed. 

He was no longer scared because Richie was squeezing his hand back and he was gone from the dream. 

Eddie’s eyes fluttered open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he WAKES


	15. richie's week from hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> g00d m0rning, t0day is a w0nderful day  
> so basically Eddie wakes up and we WOULD have had some Reddie if Bill didn't decide to fUCK EVERYTHING UP FUCK YOU BILL  
> jk I love him  
> thanks for all the comments! this chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful Katness2019 as well as Hexxxgirl cause y'all make me want to do and make good in the world so here's this chapter and it's really long I'm sorry in advance

_ Three days earlier. _

Richie wasn’t prepared for walking into Eddie’s hospital room. 

Doctors and nurses surrounded his hospital bed, attaching IVs, heart monitors, and oxygen tanks to him. An old TV set hangs from the ceiling. A window giving a view of the parking lot below was just beneath the screen. In the corner are two chairs, frayed with wear and tear. It was a typical hospital room, sparse and functional. It was just as devoid of beauty as Richie was of happiness. Eddie would’ve absolutely hated it. 

Actually being in the room was an entirely new experience. It solidified how real this actually was. He didn’t want it to be real. He had been trying for so long to make believe that it wasn’t real. But it was. 

The worst part was Eddie himself. He was frailer than Richie had ever seen him--more fragile than a ceramic sculpture, or the music box ballerina on Beverly’s bureau. He seemed almost transparent, and as Richie walked over to touch him, he wondered if his hand would go right through him. His eyes were closed, and his chest barely moved, only dipping slightly every few seconds. Richie was disgusted with himself, because he didn’t want to look at him. It hurt to look at him. And he was absolutely disgusted by his selfishness. 

Stan had grabbed two chairs and placed them next to Eddie. Richie watched Stan tenderly smooth a strand of brown hair back into place, then kiss Eddie’s forehead where it had been. It made Richie realize how selfish he had been since Eddie’s accident. Stan truly cared about Eddie. 

Stan’s action also broke the spell of being afraid to touch Eddie. Carefully, Richie laced his fingers into cold, motionless hands while sitting next to Stan, who was at Eddie’s head. 

“I’ve been so selfish,” Richie began to blubber, tugging Eddie’s limp hand into his lap. Whether he was talking to Stan, Eddie, or even himself, he wasn’t sure, but the tears came pretty steadily after that. He felt out of control and hopeless. 

"I've got you," Stan whispered fiercely in his ear, gripping Richie's back for emphasis. "I'm not letting go, Richie." 

Richie openly cried into Stan’s shoulder. He had been doing that pretty often, he hated to admit. “What if he doesn’t wake up, Stan? What if he never knows?”

Stan didn’t answer, just held Richie in his arms, tracing slow circles on his back. 

Richie and Stan slept in the hospital that day, Richie’s head on Stan’s shoulder, Richie never letting go of Eddie’s hand. 

But when Richie woke up early in the morning, Stan was gone, Richie’s head in Stan’s chair. Stan’s sweatshirt was draped over him, the one with songbirds and flowers. His favorite. 

A couple of hours later, Beverly was in his place, handing him a hot coffee and asking him to take care of himself. She, Max, Ben, and Jane had all come to visit, Max bringing a few comic books, Ben bringing his Airpods and phone, and Jane with Richie’s favorite kind of muffin (chocolate chip). They stayed for a few hours, then left around noon. 

The next day, Mike and Bill came. Mike greeted him with one of his signature bear hugs and McDonald's. Bill took Stan’s sweatshirt home, citing it was getting dirty and Stan wouldn’t like that. To replace it, Bill gave Richie one of Eddie’s. 

Richie let go of Eddie’s hand to put it on, trying to hide his tears from his friends as he did so. It was a muted gray, with “I’m a Lover Not a Fighter” in light pink on its chest. In its pockets were a balled-up piece of paper and an origami rose made from a restaurant napkin. Richie unfurled the first, and read in Eddie’s loopy, color-coded handwriting: 

“ _ To-do:  _

_ Make sure Ben’s eating _

_ Finish thank-you cards _

_ Clean apartment (in case Mike comes over after game night) _

_ Buy Star Wars tickets!!! (to go with Ben & Richie ASAP) _

_ Offer to take Stan’s shift @ bookstore on Monday (he’s stressed :,c) _

_ IMPORTANT: THANK BILL FOR THE DRAWING _

_ Give Beverly love!! _

_ Mike’s birthday stuff (in 2 months!!) _

_ Work! Up! The! Courage! To! Talk! To! Richie! _ ”

Richie didn’t even know how to react to what he had found. Eddie was such a good friend with kind intentions. He felt like he had taken advantage of him, almost--and now he was paying the price. 

_ Don’t cry,  _ he ordered himself.  _ Not on Eddie’s hoodie you don’t.  _

All he could muster was a weak “Thank you” to Mike and Bill as they left. 

He wondered about what some of the stuff on the note meant. Did Eddie know something about Ben that he didn’t? Were Stan and Beverly alright? What did Eddie need to talk to him about?

Richie intertwined his fingers with Eddie’s again. He wished he could do this when Eddie wasn’t unconscious. He wished Eddie wasn’t unconscious. He still had so much to tell him, so many more memories to make with him, so much more love to give him. 

He wondered what the boy was dreaming about. He hoped it was a good dream, although Eddie had been prone to nightmares in the past. He tried to imagine what it must feel like, being trapped in a bad place where he couldn’t scream, couldn’t think, couldn’t escape. He shuddered at the thought and held Eddie’s hand even tighter, just in case. 

“Eddie? Can you hear me?” Richie said to the broken boy, to no response. He didn’t expect one, anyway, and he had no idea where he was going with this, but he needed to talk. “I miss you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I miss you so fucking much, Eds, you couldn’t even imagine how much I need you right now.” 

He took a deep breath. “Listen, this is my fault, I love you too much to let you die, Eds. I fucking love you, alright? Please wake up, I love you, goddamnit, and I can’t fucking lose you. Not before I got to tell you this.”

Richie was desperate at this point, but he could’ve sworn he saw Eddie’s eyelashes flutter. It was the first movement other than breathing that he had witnessed, but he clung to it like a lifeboat. 

“If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.” He swallowed, bracing for something to happen. 

It was faint, but Richie felt it--Eddie’s hand was most definitely pressing into his own. He squeezed back excitedly, and perhaps too excitedly, because machines started beeping and doctors rushed into the room. Richie panicked for a moment, thinking he had hurt Eddie somehow, but then Eddie’s eyes opened, and he gasped for air. 

Eddie was awake. 

“Richie…” His voice was barely a croak. He reached out a hand and cupped Richie’s cheek in it. “Are you real?”

Richie laughed, he was so happy. A single tear escaped from his eye and skimmed over Eddie’s fingers. “You’re alive.” He threw himself on top of Eddie, being gentle with his head. “You’re alive, you’re alive, holy fuck you’re alive.”

“Yeah I’m alive, what the hell happened?” Eddie squinted suspiciously. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

Richie chuckled weakly, hugging him again. Then, he said cautiously, “Eddie, you were in a coma.”

He had expected Eddie to seem surprised at this, but Eddie only grimly nodded. “So that wasn’t just a dream?”

“Huh?”

Eddie moved a hand weakly in front of his face as if he were trying to piece together something. “It was a year from now...and you were there...but it was…”

Richie stared blankly, waiting for the end of the sentence, but Eddie’s face got very red. 

“It was different,” he finished. “It wasn’t real. It was more of a daydream.”

That intrigued Richie. “A daydream?”

But Eddie shook his head. “Never mind,” he said mildly. “It’s already fading from memory.”

They continued the conversation only when doctors and nurses weren’t bombarding Eddie with questions and equipment. Everyone seemed shocked to see Eddie awake. “This shouldn’t have been possible,” Christie remarked. “There’s no way he should have reacted to Mr. Tozier’s voice the way he did. It’s unheard of.” She turned to Eddie with a smile on her face. “You’re a medical miracle.”

“I am?” Eddie said incredulously. 

“Yes!” she gushed. “And it happened under  _ my  _ care! I’m so excited to--”

But Eddie was no longer listening, Richie could tell by the knowing glance he spared him. Seeing Eddie smiling was the single best feeling in the world, and he left his own mouth lift a little for the first time in a few days. 

He was suddenly very aware that they hadn’t let go of each other’s hands. Richie cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie said, dropping his hand. 

“No, it’s…” Richie fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, then stilled, and grinned dopily. “It’s alright.”

“I missed this,” Eddie said fondly. 

Richie leaned a little closer over him. “Missed what?”

“You and me.”

Richie’s heart skipped a multitude of beats, and he suddenly felt like he might need an oxygen tank or something, because Eddie robbed him of his breath. Or CPR. From Eddie. Yeah, that sounds good. 

He was starting to get a little close, completely lost in Eddie’s deep brown eyes. Inches from his face. They were practically nose-to-nose when all of a sudden--

“Eddie,” said a voice at the door. 

They both whipped around, Richie falling back onto his chair with a squeaky thud. 

There stood the other five Losers, all peering over each other’s shoulders. The voice belonged to Bill, who was staring at his roommate in wonder. “W-We just got the call from Christie, I wanted to c-come say hi.”

“Bill,” Eddie said in the softest voice Richie had ever heard him use with anyone besides his mother. 

Bill rushed over and hugged him the best he could with Eddie laying down. “I missed you, b-buddy.”

“I missed you too, Big Bill.”

And suddenly, Richie was hit by another wave of jealousy. Apparently they both were either trying to pretend that the kiss didn’t happen, or that it no longer mattered to either of them, but the light in Eddie’s eyes was something Richie had never even seen before when he was talking to Bill. 

Fucking hell. 

Each Loser offered their own teary greeting and apology and whatnot, all circling around Eddie’s bed. Beverly was even happy-crying. 

“How did you do it?” Stan asked when they were all situated. “It’s not supposed to be possible for a person to just...wake up. And Christie said that nothing’s too bad with you, maybe some memory loss, but that’s all. Eddie, that’s insane.”

Eddie seemed to not know how to respond. He’d take a breath to speak, only to let it out defeatedly when no words came to fill his mouth. Eventually, he managed to say, “Richie was holding my hand, and he was talking to me. I could...I could hear him. I could hear what he was saying. So I got out of there.” He shuddered. “And I never wanna go back. I’m sorry for being irresponsible, I should’ve known not to drink so much. It had been a rough week and I didn’t know how to cope.”

Mike nodded. “None of us blame you,” he said solemnly. “I think I speak for all of us when we say that we love you to death, Eddie.”

Eddie started to cry but tried to hide it, which only made him cry more. “I love you guys too,” he said, and the Losers circled in to hug him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w000sh that was a doozy to write but I'm proud of myself  
> yes I know they all should get in trouble for underage drinking but I don't want to have to write that so we're not gonna. let's pretend they all got a stern talking-to okay  
> <3 thank you for reading <3


	16. stan's wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aww  
> I tried so hard to make this not-trash for y'all and yet...  
> have some stanlonbrough

Stan noticed three things after he Ubered to the hospital and burst into Eddie’s room. 

The first thing was that Eddie and Richie were mere centimeters from kissing. 

The second thing was that Richie wasn’t wearing the sweatshirt Stan left with him, but rather one of Eddie’s. 

And although these two things were fine and good for the people involved, what most sparked surprise, curiosity and bewilderment was the fact that Bill was wearing his songbird sweatshirt. 

And it looked crazy good on him. 

It was a light pastel blue that brought out the color of his eyes. Of course, trying to claim that Bill’s eyes were blue was like claiming the sun is yellow--accurate, definitely, but not quite sufficient to capture the fiery strength and passion held within. The blue-gray of stormy skies that drowned Stan in the rain to come. He would welcome it gladly. 

Of course he hugged Eddie and talked with the Losers and snuck everyone coffee as usual. Of course he tried to ignore the tension between Richie and Eddie as usual. Of course he tried not to be the seventh wheel, but as usual, to no avail. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t take his eyes off Bill. 

Finally, Christie shooed them all out to run some tests on Eddie. Richie didn’t take that very well, but Stan convinced him to go, saying that Eddie was in good hands and that Richie should probably shower and get some sleep. 

“Hey, Mike, could I ride home with you?” Stan asked after he had caught up with the others. 

Mike looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded. “Sure thing. We had something to talk to you about, actually.”

Stan laughed nervously. “Good.” 

He stared blankly at the wall ahead of him, cursing himself for saying “Good”. _What the fuck, Stan? You dumbass bitch, had another gay panic attack, did you? Grow the fuck up._

A look of confusion washed over Richie’s face when Stan motioned to him that he was riding with Bill and Mike. Stan shrugged in response. “I’ll tell ya later,” he mouthed behind Bill’s back. 

Richie nodded, then hopped into Ben’s car with Beverly. 

Similarly to a few days prior, Mike shut off the engine as soon as Ben’s car had left. He swung around, resting his head on his chair, and appeared lost in thought while staring at Stan. 

Next to him in the passenger’s seat was Bill, fidgeting with the sleeves of his--no, _Stan’s_ \--sweatshirt anxiously. 

Stan tried to break the silence. “So...what did y’all need to tell me?”

Bill cleared his throat, dropping his hands into his lap. “I assume you’re w-wondering why I’m wearing your sweatshirt,” he said in a quivering voice. 

“Yeah,” Stan said, a little weirded out. “What’s up with that?”

“As you know, getting R-Richie and Eddie together is our goal, which I kind of fucked up t-today as it seems, but whatever. So the initial idea was to b-bring Eddie’s sweatshirt in for Richie--”

Stan groaned. “I told you fuckers not to meddle--”

“--Puppy dog eyes--” explained Mike wistfully. 

“--B-But I saw him with your sweatshirt, and, uh…” Bill pried his eyes away from Stan’s imploring ones in the rearview mirror. 

Mike put a hand on Bill’s. “He got slightly jealous.”

Stan’s entire mind went blank. “Huh?”

Bill tried unsuccessfully to hide his blushing face in his own shoulder. “I always loved how that sweatshirt looked on you,” he said quietly. “And I had always wanted to steal it, you know, like a b-boyfriend would do.”

“Bill, what?” Stan couldn’t even begin to process whatever the hell Bill was stammering about. Was he admitting that he liked him? Right in front of Mike? Then it all started to make sense. “Oh, I see how it is.” He grinned wickedly to hide his pain. “You’re rubbing it in my face that I’m the fucking seventh wheel of our friend group. Bill gets off a good one.” He bit his tongue so hard that his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. It was obvious, but he never took Mike or Bill to be fucking jackasses. He let his guard down and his hopes up, stupidly. There was probably even a hidden camera somewhere. 

“No,” Mike said. Stan watched suspiciously and confusedly as Mike put a hand in the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out...a shower cap? “Remember when we were little, and we used to wear these because you were afraid that spiders were gonna get stuck in our hair?”

Stan nodded thickly. 

Mike smiled. “I think that was the day I started to develop a sort of a crush on you. You were so sweet and kind. I didn’t realize that I liked you then until super recently, but in hindsight, that’s definitely what it was.”

_Mike liked me?!_

“You still have that?” he croaked. 

“Always,” Mike said, and there was so much tenderness and honesty in his tone that Stan just about melted. 

“G-Game night, when you said you had a crush…” Bill said, looking out the window with a sentimental smile on the corners of his lips. “I had liked you forever, but I always had thought you were straight. Then I fell for Mike, but my feelings for you didn’t go away.”

Stan stared down at his feet, trying to wake himself up from this strange utopian dream where both Mike and Bill had crushes on him. When that didn’t happen, he started talking. 

“I can’t believe it...you have no idea how long I’ve loved you both and have had to sit silently...that’s why game night sucked...that’s why I didn’t like it when Eddie kissed Bill...that’s why I’ve always been awkward around you guys…”

“We’re really sorry that we didn’t tell you sooner,” Mike said honestly. “But we didn’t know of each other’s crushes before last night. Bill came into my apartment sobbing that while he still loved me, he also loved you,” he explained, seeing the look of confusion on Stan’s face. “But...is that a yes?” he finished hopefully. 

“A yes to...being in a poly relationship with you two?” Stan’s face broke into a grin, and he leaned over to kiss his boyfriends. “Yes, yes, a fucking million times yes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm kind of slowing down writing-wise, i'm still gonna publish but this week has been whack for my mental health so just bear with me? i'm not giving up, certainly not, but if production is slow it's cause of that.  
> thanks for understanding


	17. richie's eddie (and eddie's richie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what the fuck is this   
> it's all been leading up to this and i've failed you i am sorry  
> in which stanlonbrough comes out and...reddie! finally, am i right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I WON AN AWARD FOR MY WRITING (completely separate) SHOULD I POST IT ON AO3???  
> it's called "From The Other Side Of The Stage" (peep @ my username) and it's gonna be on the scholastic website at some point. i got honorable mention and lemme tell ya, i feel So Honored!!! aaa! please lmk if y'all would be interested in reading it cause i reaaaally wanna post it. <3

It was a painful day without either Eddie nor Stan to entertain him. 

Richie couldn’t even imagine how Eddie must feel, in that suffocatingly bland excuse for a hospital room, getting prodded and poked and pestered by doctor upon doctor upon doctor. He’d trade with him in an instant, but of course, he didn’t have that choice. 

Just as he feared, he felt so alone in himself. He hated feeling alone, he hated the silence. He showered for the first time in a week, trying to ignore the weight on his chest. He caved into his need for attention and comfort and decided to stay the night at Beverly’s. 

Max, bless her soul, tried to comfort him, but there wasn’t much she could do. Eddie was awake, sure, but that meant he’d have to confront him. About his feelings. 

His reasoning here was that he thought he had lost Eddie. Richie thought he would never see the love of his life again. What if something like that happened again, and Eddie would never know about his feelings? He would drive himself insane if Eddie died not knowing. 

So he was forcing himself to do it. To confess. 

And he was scared as fuck. 

It was a sleepless night, to say the least. 

The next morning, Eddie was cleared to have visitors, which meant of course that Richie was out the door before anyone could wake up. However, leaving the house and getting to the hospital without a license nor a friend with a license he was willing to wake proved to be harder than he had previously expected. He couldn’t walk, it was too far and would take too long, and he didn’t have any money on him, which meant no Uber. 

Richie really had no choice but to bike. 

It was hidden in the alleyway between his apartment building and the Aroma Joe’s next door, underneath a tarp worn pale with rain. He hadn’t ridden in such a long time, but for this occasion, it almost seemed right. After everything he and Eddie (the Losers too, but mostly Eddie) had been through on bikes, it seemed solemnly fitting that this was the mode of transportation he was taking in order to confess to Eddie. 

The ride seemed shorter, but it was likely because he was hyped on adrenaline, caffeine, and anxiety. All he could think about is the rides he used to go on with the Losers and Eddie, carelessly exploring Derry without a care in the world. He remembered how natural it felt with them, how easy it was. How simple everything was. His biggest concerns were whether or not he had enough money to spend in the arcade and wondering when he was going to start liking girls. 

Once he got to the hospital, Richie threw his bike near the door and sprinted inside, shirttails snapping in the wind behind him. He knew he looked insane, and he didn’t much care. He just needed to get to Eddie  _ now.  _

It’s weird--now that the moment was approaching, he didn’t feel scared. He felt strangely...at ease. He had nothing to lose anymore. He thought he lost Eddie. And now he wasn’t ever going to again. 

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” he panted to the receptionist. 

The woman raised her pencil-line eyebrows judgmentally. “Slow down, hon,” she said, her tone condescending. “Who?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak.” Richie was starting to get annoyed now. Didn’t she realize he was in a hurry?

“We don’t have an Eddie Kaspbrak registered at this hospital,” she said primly after rapping her fake nails on her computer. 

“Yes, you do,” Richie said impatiently. “I saw him, like, yesterday. Room 218.”

Her nonexistent lips, which were painted in an unflattering hot pink, dropped open. “Try again, hon,” she said crisply, sounding like Richie’s impatient first-grade teacher trying to explain what a pencil was. “We don’t have an Eddie Kaspbrak at this hospital. Are you sure you’re at the right place?”

“Yes, I’m in the right place,” Richie said curtly. “Run your little scanner again because he’s--”

“Richie, I’m right here. I’ve been discharged.”

There was a brief moment where Richie's face washed blank with confusion, like his brain cogs couldn't turn fast enough to take in the information from his wide eyes. Every muscle of his body just froze before a grin crept onto his face, it soon stretched from one side to the other showing every single tooth.  _ You’re real,  _ Richie happily thought, not being able to form real words with his mouth.  _ You’re real and you’re standing in front of me.  _

And he was--wobbly, sure, and thin--and he was wearing clothes Richie had never seen before along with sporting a small cane. And he was smiling. That was more important to Richie than Eddie would ever know. 

Richie’s brain couldn't formulate a thought, at least not one based in any language, and if he doesn't touch the love of his life soon, his atoms will tear themselves apart. How the ground between them is erased he'll never recall, but one moment they are apart and the next they are morphed into a single being. The warmth of Eddie’s body meets Richie’s cold skin. One of Eddie’s hands clasps around Richie’s lower back, the other clutching his cane tightly. With each soft touch more tears fall, tears neither of them wipe away. 

“Oof, careful,” said Eddie as he almost fell over. 

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Richie said hastily, grabbing Eddie’s waist tightly, making sure Eddie stayed in place. When the moment passed, they were still smiling at each other, and Richie’s hand wasn’t going anywhere. 

The receptionist cleared her throat loudly. “Boys, would you mind continuing your little reunion elsewhere? I have people to tend to,” she said pointedly over outdated cat-eye glasses. 

“Thank you,” Richie’s eyes skimmed her nametag, “Nancy, for being entirely useless. Have a wonderful day. C’mon, Eddie.” 

Without really thinking, he grabbed Eddie’s hand and tugged him away. 

“Sorry about my friend,” Eddie shouted as they left the hospital. 

Once they got outside, Richie dropped Eddie’s hand and put his own in the pocket of his black ripped jeans. “So,” Richie laughed awkwardly. “It’s been a hell of a week, am I right?”

Eddie snorted a cute laugh. “You could say that again,” he said playfully, nudging Richie with his shoulder. 

Richie tried to ignore the sparks that traveled from his arm to his heart and said, “Where’d you get the clothes, Eds?”

Eddie smiled. “Oh, God, it’s kind of a long story. Christie gave me these, and when I told her she didn’t have to, she, uh, asked me out.”

“She asked you  _ out _ ?” Richie laughed. “I mean,  _ damn _ . What did you do?”

“I told her that I was sorry but I’m gay!”

Every time Richie heard the verbal confirmation that Eddie-fucking-Kaspbrak did indeed like men, he felt the universe coming into alignment. “That’s very unprofessional of her.”

“Not only that, but she was  _ petty  _ as well! She quit having me as her patient and I got this old dude named Dr. Granola!  _ Granola _ !”

Richie laughed, not at the name, but at how fast Eddie was talking. When Eddie was passionate about something, His eyes would light up like fireworks, and his hands--well, hand, one was on the cane--would gesture wildly without restraint nor significance. It made him look younger, like they were twelve years old again, and Eddie was talking about the newest Marvel movie or astronomy or something someone said. Richie would sit and listen to him for hours. They were both talkative, sure, but in different ways. They balanced each other out, like yin and yang or some shit. 

“Richie, did you bike here?”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be discharged today.”

Eddie laughed lightly, sending butterflies swarming in Richie’s stomach. “No, it’s okay, I didn’t either. Should we call Stan or…”

“Hold on,” Richie said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked his phone for the first time since last night and saw three unread texts, sent at 1 in the morning, from “stan the man//gloomy roomie”:

“OMFG RICHIE.”

“GUESS WHO’S IN A POLY RELATIONSHIP NOW.”

“BILL AND MIKE AAAA.”

He smiled and tucked his phone back into his pocket. “I don’t wanna bother Stan right now, he was up late. And it’s six am, in case you’re wondering.”

“...Oh.” Eddie seemed to just realize how dark it was outside. “Do you wanna...go to the Quarry or something? Just the two of us? Watch the sunrise?”

Richie felt heat rise to his cheeks. “Sounds lovely,” he admitted. “Wanna take the bike?”

Slowly, Eddie nodded. Smiled. “We can put the cane in your basket. I can hold on.”

Richie felt every one of his nerves catch on fire. “Okay,” he said, pleased with how nonchalant his voice sounded. He retrieved his bike, sat himself down, and felt Eddie’s arms wrap around his chest. 

His heart practically sung. The feeling of Eddie’s body against his own was captivating. He loved the feel of the shorter boy’s arms around him. He had to remind himself to focus on the road.  _ Wouldn’t want Eddie back in the hospital, would I? _ he chuckled to himself. But no, Eddie was his precious cargo, he couldn’t crash if he tried. 

Richie skidded to a halt at the quarry, sending pebbles plummeting off the ledge. He helped Eddie off the bike (hyper-aware of every touch they shared) and handed him his cane. They walked arm-in-arm to the edge, making sure to keep a good distance between the cliff and where they were standing. 

It was quiet and peaceful at the quarry, as it had been for every day of every year beforehand, but the two had never been here together, alone. Mist cascaded dreamily about the glittering depths of water, a sight only visible in the early hours of morning. The first hues of a rust-colored orange were starting to spread like glimmering rays of hope over a new day, almost a mirage in the unusually cold August day. 

They sat in silence for a minute, in awe of the beautiful copper hues with a kiss of sweet baby lips. The sky looked as if water could catch fire and become something so new. Richie felt his heart swell within him as he watched the pale rainbow of startlingly gorgeous colors. Indigo fading to a lighter blue fading to the slightest bit of green, and then the yellow-orange-red of the sun beginning its daily journey through the sky.

“Holy shit,” Richie whispers. He thinks he might understand why this calms people so much, because he feels completely at peace with the universe right now, but when he turns to Eddie to say this, he is stunned into silence.

The colors of the sky are being projected onto Eddie’s face, highlighting his carved features. Sharp cheekbones, the swoop of his nose, the delicate curve of his neck. The awestruck look on Eddie’s face only makes it more enchanting: his lips are parted in wonder, and his eyes are wide and glistening in the light of the sunrise, showing a golden tone in them that Richie’s never seen before. 

Richie suddenly feels slightly dizzy and his heart picks up its pace. It’s as if the ground has been completely swept out underneath him.

A yearning grows in his chest, and for the first time since when Eddie woke up, he wants more than anything to reach out to the shorter boy and pull him closer, kiss him gently, make this morning even more breathtaking than it’s already been. 

And again, he almost does. 

“Richie?” Eddie whispers, and Richie pretends he wasn’t staring, although they both know the truth. 

“Yeah?” Richie said in return, letting his hopes get up. 

“I wanted to tell you…” Eddie drifts off, moving a little closer to Richie. He tore his eyes away from the sunrise and whispered, “Even though I was drunk...the kiss...I meant it.”

Richie bit the inside of his cheek. And all this time, he thought Eddie had been pining for him when in reality, he did like Bill?! The only thing he could think of in response was “But...Stan and--” 

He was going to mention Mike but the words died on his lips when Eddie said, “I understand,” gloomily. “If you’re happy with Stan.”

“Happy with Stan!” Richie exclaimed. “Stan’s dating Bill. Thought you should know.”

“Bill’s dating Mike?” Eddie asked, very confused. 

“And Stan! Long story. Wait.” Richie blew a breath out of his mouth, hard. “Who did you think you kissed?”

“You!” Eddie said, sounding certain. Then he didn’t sound as sure. “I thought. I  _ tried _ . Who did I--”

“Bill!” Richie thought about what Richie said for a moment. “Wait, you wanted to kiss me?”

Eddie turned red. “Shit, I kissed  _ Bill _ ? Nobody told me--”

“Eds.” Richie put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and stared at him. Eddie’s eyes were still aglow from the sun. Molten pools of golden honey sunrise. “Say it again?”

“What did I say?” Eddie said, looking a little scared. He was talking fast again. 

“Who did you mean to kiss?”

Eddie’s eyes glanced at his shoes, then to the sunrise, then to Richie. “You, Rich,” he said softly. He quietly half-laughed, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s always been you.”

Richie’s breath sped up. “Eds, you are the source of my joy, the center of my world, and the whole of my heart. I’ve loved you for so many years, I’ve never been able to have a successful relationship ‘cause I was so hooked on you. Are you saying...you like me back?”

“Do I like you back?” Eddie repeated, almost incredulous, slowly processing what Richie was saying. “Richie, I  _ love _ you.”

Richie’s face split open into a smile. “You’re not kidding?”

“Eddie is  _ not  _ getting off a good one,” Eddie confirmed. 

Richie’s hands rose up Eddie’s neck, carefully cupping the shorter boy’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. His entire life had been leading up to this moment. He started to lean closer still, and this time, there was no Bill to ruin things. 

Their lips met in the light of the rising sun. This moment felt impossibly perfect. Neither of their daydreams were quite as good as the real thing. The world seemed to fall away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. Richie’s hand rested below Eddie’s ear, his thumb caressing the shorter boy’s cheek as their breaths mingled. Eddie ran his fingers down Richie’s spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and they could feel the beating of each other’s hearts against their chests. 

“Eds,” Richie breathed, tangling his hands in Eddie’s hair. 

“I fucked your mom,” Eddie said automatically. He shook his head and pulled away, cringing. “Aaaand that’s something I’m going to regret for the rest of my life. I can’t believe--I cannot  _ believe  _ I just fucking said that to you.”

Richie laughed, lightly kissing Eddie on the nose. “You’re fucking adorable.”

Eddie’s cheeks turned a flattering shade of rose pink. “Idiot,” he weakly retorted, but he laced his free hand in Richie’s. “C’mon, I have something to show you.”

“One question,” Richie said. He shook his head, swinging Eddie’s hand a little. “Actually, now I have two questions.”

“Shoot.”

“First of all”--Richie retrieved his bike from where he’d thrown it, all without releasing Eddie’s hand--“what are we?”

“Dumbasses,” Eddie replied immediately. When Richie didn’t laugh, he added, “Whatever you want us to be.”

“Boyfriends?” Richie said hopefully. 

Eddie nodded, grinning. “Boyfriends it is, then.”

“And the second question--where are we going?”

Eddie leaned on his cane. “Kissing bridge.”

“Ah.”

They talked about this or that, hand in hand. Richie loved how nicely Eddie’s hand fit in his, especially now that Eddie was awake. It felt like he didn’t deserve this--didn’t deserve how incredible Eddie was. But as soon as that thought entered his head, it already started to fade. Eddie was amazing, but this was the future he had both wanted and needed. A future where he and Eddie could walk hand in hand down the street with no repercussions. A future where they could share an apartment, their own stupid jokes, and maybe even a family somewhere down the line. A future that was now the present. 

“Look,” Eddie said sheepishly, gesturing to the worn wood of the kissing bridge. 

There, engraved in a clumsy heart, was the initials R. T. 

“Me?” Richie said, in awe, tracing the letters with his finger. 

“No, Robin Thicke,” Eddie said with an eye roll. “Yes, you, genius. I did it when I was about thirteen. I stole my mom’s kitchen knife.”

Wordlessly, Richie pulled Eddie to a different spot on the kissing bridge, where “R+E” was written. “I was about eleven,” he said proudly. 

“And I’m guessing the ‘E’ doesn’t stand for ‘excrement’,” laughed Eddie into Richie’s shoulder. “Well, now what?”

“It is a kissing bridge,” observed Richie. 

Grinning, he pulled Eddie in for another kiss. 

This one only lasted a moment before a car zoomed past them, then stopped. The windows rolled down, and sure enough, there was Mike driving, Stan in shotgun, and Ben, Bill, and Beverly in the backseat. 

Everyone was quiet for a moment. 

Then, Stan spoke up: 

“Bill, I owe you thirty bucks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys, it's been real, but this might be the end of lo(s/v)er boy. i might add another chapter that takes place in the future, but if i do it won't be relevant to this fic, just kind of a cute oneshot i guess. thank you so much for your support, wonderful comments, kudos, and love. it's been a rollarcoaster and i loved every minute. i'll probably post more (you haven't seen the last of me yet!) but for my first piece, this was soooo much fun. i love y'all to death and thank you so much for believing in me. you guys deserve everything good in this world and soooo much more. live your best lives<3


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